The Protector
by Raven Paradox
Summary: "Before I could attack further, the one-armed man slammed me against the wall. I gasped from hitting my already damaged head, and the older assassin released my wrist and turned me over so my back is against the wall. My head rolled. I cannot produce anymore adrenaline. Without saying a word, Malik did an uppercut, hitting under my chin. And I lost all senses." (BEING REWRITTEN)
1. The Encounter

**Disclaimer: This is a work of fan fiction that uses the characters, concepts, and canon from the Assassin's Creed franchise. Assassin's Creed belongs to Ubisoft, Patrice Desilets, Jade Raymond, and Corey May.**

**Warning:**** This fanfic is rated M for the following reasons: violence, adult language, dark themes, and sexual themes.**

**User r****eviews and criticism always appreciated!**

* * *

**Niqab is a long head veil that only shows the eyes; worn by women.**

**Hijab is a head-scarf that covers the hair, ears, and neck; worn by women.**

* * *

It was the perfect night. The moonlight was almost completely enveloped by the clouds, leaving just enough light for me to see the amazing architecture of this man's house. He is no doubt rich, and I cannot wait to see him. I had actually met the old man several weeks earlier in the Rich District's market; he bought fresh meat and salt while I bought some expensive fabrics, but chances are he does not remember. I, on the other hand, never forget a face or voice.

The privately owned fountain's continuous flow of water was loud enough to cover the sounds of my feet and hands pressing on the bricks. Climbing was never my forte, and the fact that this man's personal bedroom is on the third floor does not help at all. If he were not rich, breaking into the house by the first floor would be enough. But still, this man either has more enemies than I realized or he is extremely paranoid-

I instinctively stilled; someone has their gaze on me.

Not even daring to move my head, the side of the brick wall filled my gaze, and I kept my hold on the spaces between the bricks despite having sweaty hands. A full minute passed before I heard one of the guards curse his eyes playing tricks on him, and he returned to patrolling the ground floor around the house with his numerous colleagues. Not wanting to have another chance encounter, I quickly resumed climbing up until I reached the roof, still having to use a bit of effort to push myself onto the top.

Just my luck, only one archer is stationed here, and his back is facing me. Sliding out my prized ten-inched-blade Syrian dagger from my garb, I stalked low towards the guard, staying in his blind spot. Once I reached behind him, my right hand quickly covered his mouth and pulled his head back. While he was still surprised, my armed hand reached around and stabbed through his chest armor, reaching into his heart. I pushed the weapon deeper and deeper inside while keeping his protests muffled until they died down, along with his life.

As slowly and quietly as I could, I laid his body down onto the rooftop rather than discarding it to the floor like I usually would. I scanned the nearby rooftops and confirmed that there are no more archers that can spot me or get in way of my escape route. After cleaning my dagger on the guard's pants then putting it away, I lied on my stomach. Ignoring the freezing rooftop, I patiently waited for my target's household to retire.

A normal person would be asleep at this hour, but not this old man. Maybe his paranoia is what has kept him alive all these years, but tonight, it will be his end.

Although I already know which window leads to his bedroom, there is a lit candle on the sill, indicating he had not retired to bed yet. The old man's candle was put out first, but I learned from experience that I should wait for the other candles to be dimmed too. An hour, maybe two, passed before the house was completely filled with darkness. Now is my chance.

I flung my legs over the edge and made sure I had a good footing. More slowly and quietly I scaled down the wall and over, reaching and entering my target's window. The moon's already limited light could not reach in, leaving the room completely dark. I waited a few moments for my eyes to adjust, and I soon noticed the outline of the master bed. Gracefully I walked towards it, arming myself once more.

I have done this so many times my breathing remained normal and soundless as I raised the dagger in hand. Looking at the end where the old man's head would be, I finally noticed something wrong.

Where are the sounds of even breathing or someone sleeping?

_Uh-oh._

Turning around, I ducked and dashed to the middle of the room, avoiding the lethal sword now cutting the bed.

"ASSASSI-"

I immediately threw my dagger towards the source of my target's voice, and I heard a pained cry and the falling of a sword. My eyes focused on the man's body in the dark, revealing his hands clutching around my dagger's hilt since the blade is deep in his throat. He started gurgling blood. I hastily reached him, ripping my weapon from the doomed man and heading for the window.

The door burst open, revealing several armed guards, but by the time they witnessed their master's last breath, I had reached the rooftop and made my escape.

Once I was out of the district, I climbed down and fell to the ground, landing on my feet and hands. Standing up straight, I sighed heavily. That was one of my worst assassinations in a _long_ time…

**The Protector**

This underground tavern was a brilliant idea, and brilliantly made, too. The humble incense shop above is the cover, own and run by the manager of unlawful contracts, including my services. Anyone who really wanted someone dead or framed or sabotaged came to my manager's incense shop, answered the code, and was escorted to the back storage rooms where the trap door is located. That trap door leads here, where I am currently.

My manager was upstairs tending his shop while my client stood across from me, signing papers that verified I had done my job and he had paid me for my services. The rich client put down the feather, indicating he was done. He handed the papers to me, and I quickly scanned them. Looking back up to him, I nodded in approval.

He smirked, "Thank you. I will recommend you when my friends need similar business to be attended."

I said nothing, and he curtly walked past me to reach the ladder that led above ground. Once I was alone, I pulled back my handmade mask made of black brushed cotton. The mask resembles a niqab, but shorter, the base only reaching my shoulders, and I had sewn the back of the base to my shirt's shoulder line so I would not lose my mask again… especially like last time.

Every piece of _my_ clothes, I made with my own two hands.

"Mother taught me when I was little…" I suddenly recounted but immediately stopped the memory.

A pleasant sigh escaped me as I pulled my leather boots off of my rough feet.

My long-sleeved robe was cut short so the bottom barely reached past my thighs, and it along with my long pants that were tucked inside my boots are also black and composed of brushed cotton, and they tightly clung to my body to reduce noise.

I stripped them off, revealing leather straps and the sheaths strung from them, wrapped around my callused sides, holding ten throwing knives. Those leather straps, however, are attached and joined together to a thick piece of leather the width of a closed fist that rests against the midpoint of my back.

A completely separate leather strap (more like a belt) is tied around my waist, and my dagger and its holder are attached to it, resting against my right hip. My coin pouch and its string are wrapped around the opposite end of the belt, resting against my left hip. The left and right undersides of my shirt have a long but discrete flap that allows my hands access to those weapons and my money.

I wrapped my working clothes in a ball and hid them and my boots in a metal trunk, which is usually hidden under the desk. Pulling out another trunk made of wood, I opened it and took out my normal clothes: a black silk tunic with matching black silk niqab, this one's base reached to my waist, along with leather sandals. After a certain incident that almost got me killed, I decided to add my discrete flap design to all of my clothes, no matter what occasion they were for.

Luckily I had developed the habit of cleaning my weapons as soon as possible after every mission, so that chore was out of the way. Once my civilian garbs were on, I exited the tavern and calmly entered my manager's shop, and his merchandise immediately reached my nose.

"Achoo!"

"I swear to Allah, I did not light any of them!" my manager explained, already exasperated.

I rubbed my nose through the cloth. "_Sure_," I teased. "How else could you have sold them with the customers not knowing what they will smell like?" _I'm_ _not even sure what that is supposed to be!_

He rolled his eyes, moving away from the front desk. "The customers can smell the incense itself before burning it to know what the scent will be. I have explained this to you far too many times!"

Oh, Shazeb Al-Roze… This mischievous yet intelligent husband must have had quite an interesting past for our paths to cross. For at least ten years he has been secretly running his private mercenary business, and the only reason I work for him now is because I'm the unfortunate replacement for the last idiot who worked for Al-Roze; the idiot was caught and executed during an assignment.

If it was not difficult to merely find clients to work for in this city considering my status, and if I had not gotten my ass kicked, I would not be working for Al-Roze. However, the man is very organized and knows everyone and what they want. It takes him a minimum of three weeks to find another client, and amazingly he was not as greedy as I presumed when we first met. He has always split the money 75-25 with me.

"And another thing: why do you refuse to wear that gown I gave you? It is a good color on you!"

"Because blood appears on dark blue."

"Yes, but only in the sunlight. Otherwise it is hardly visible!"

"Shazeb."

"What?"

"I need a break." He shot me a disbelieving look. I sighed. "I'm _fine_, but… I need to practice again."

Al-Roze obviously did not like this predicament, but this was not the first time I needed a break. I certainly have plenty of saved money, though I am not sure about him. One day out of curiosity I followed him to his home, and that was how I discovered his marital status. However, I am not sure if he has any children. Anyway, my breaks last for one month maximum. Three months out of three years is not a very big deal, at least to me. I hope it is not to him.

Al-Roze finally answered, "Alright, alright! But do not get yourself killed… or injured."

Laughter immediately burst from my mouth, and I began for the door.

"Woman! Do not laugh at my warnings! Do not get killed or injured; or I will beat sanity into you again!" The irony of the situation elicited more laughter from me. "And no jumping from two story buildings either! And do not start fights with the guards!" he shouted from the other side of the shop.

My laughter could be heard all the way out of his store.

Once in the streets, I was forced to subdue my laughter to avoid drawing unwanted attention. Now calm, I feel like gaining some last minute money before returning home.

Before realization hit me, I was in the Middle District near the huge alleyway where some group of thugs tends to hang out and scout their "territory." Thugs, though aggressive, are ridiculously easy to pickpocket. But getting caught by them is not enjoyable in the least. It is worth preparation.

It did not take too much wondering to find the market, where I purchased a standard vase made of clay. I placed and balanced the vase upon my head, using my right arm to help prevent it from falling. Slowly and patiently I returned near the thugs' alleyway and spotted one leaving and walking into the main street. Perfect.

The thug walked on the right side of the street, and I followed closely, keeping three persons' length away until the opportunity came. Another large and familiarly significant alleyway became within my sight, and I suspect within the thug's sight as well. When the overly large man was within eleven strides of the alleyway's entrance, I increased my stride's length but kept the same speed. I learned from experience that increasing even my walking speed alerted thugs _and_ guards alike that I was following them; every single time.

_Six strides._

I freed and stretched out my right arm.

_Three strides._

Almost there…!

_One stride._

While the thug turned the corner to enter the alleyway, my fingers snatched the string attached to the pouch and lightly jerked it from the man's belt, freeing it. With continuing motion, I walked further ahead while grasping the pouch with my fingers and giving it a light squeeze. Beneath the leather is the feeling of many coins pressed against each other, and I smirked in triumph. My right arm lifted up again, dropped the pouch into the vase, and quickly returned to grasping the vase before it almost lost balance. Now it is time to count from ten.

Not even fix seconds had passed, and I could hear the thug's large feet pound the ground, quickly approaching where I am walking. His intimidating huffing increased with each step, revealing his closing distance and just how _enraged _he is. I continued walking, maintaining a nonchalant attitude while carrying my vase and the money hidden within. Recalling my past experience when dealing with thugs, I quickly placed the vase in my arms instead of having it balanced on my head.

"Out of my way!"

I pathetically screeched at the unexpected shove but spun enough to land on my back. My eyes widened in horror at seeing the vase suspended in the air. My heart skipped a beat. When I blinked I finally realized the vase had landed perfectly in my arms. Groaning at the realization of how out-of-practice I am in this occupation, I rose to my feet and returned the vase upon my head.

I think it is time to go home.

I looked around and spotted a rather narrow alleyway and walked towards it. As I grabbed the vase to hold it in my arms, sounds of flesh upon flesh hit my ears. Ignoring the sounds, I held the vase upside down and caught the stolen pouch. I carefully slipped it within my clothes and tied it to my belt while making sure I was not being seen.

By the time I finished, my curiosity got the better of me, especially when the fist fighting stopped and I heard two men conversing instead. Hugging the wall and slowly creeping to the edge, I was finally able to peer around the corner, and I spotted an average looking yet terrified and bloody-faced man on his knees facing my direction. However, the kneeling man did not see me; his focus is on the man standing in front of him.

At first I thought he was a scholar, but the more I studied the man in white the more I realized he is but a scholar. The white cloth covering his arms failed to hide his impressive muscles, and he wears dark brown leather straps around his back and waist. Also, a white hood covers his head. The scholars here wear turbans. And not to mention most scholars I have seen are either skinny or fat, and their profession gives them no business becoming that muscular!

No. Whoever this man in white is, he is pretending to be a scholar.

Suddenly the man brought up his left hand and slammed it to the kneeling man's neck. Then I saw the all too familiar spill of red. I instinctively hid my entire body around the corner, knowing I saw something I should not have. My adrenaline and fear of too many unknowns spiked. Who is this fake scholar? What was the purpose of killing that man? How did he cut the man without a visible weapon?

As calmly and silently as possible I walked away with my vase back on my head into the main streets.

As much as I respect a person's need to kill, I could not help but wonder if there were other men who dressed like scholars…

**The Protector**

After thirty minutes of walking, I finally made it to the Poor District. My home for the last seven years is rather unique. I do not know if Old-Man found it like that or perhaps designed it that way. I really knew barely anything about him despite how close we were. For sure, I know that he had a granddaughter that I supposedly looked like, he was an expert thief, he took me in, and he taught me many, many things.

I brought the vase down and held it in my left arm. Walking towards the shortest wall, I ran up it and caught the roof edge with my right hand. Carefully I placed the vase on top of the roof and hauled myself up. I quickly picked up the vase and hid behind a garden, scanning the rooftops for archers. Confirming their absence, I continued walking but tried to not be noticed by the people below.

The large rectangular entrance came into view; a rather peculiar "door" of sorts. It is really an entrance, and the only entrance and "window" in the three roomed building. Reaching the edge, I dropped down, tightly holding the vase so it would not break from the hard landing.

Quickly regaining my composure, I turned around and placed the vase next to the waterless fountain at the end of the hallway. Old-Man taught me how to use the fountain, though useless, to easily climb out of this house. On the other side of the hallway are more vases that are plugged to protect the drinkable water in them.

Removing my niqab, I entered the main room and tossed it on the long table. One end of the table reaches the side-wall while the other end stops, leaving enough room for entry and exit near the hallway. Behind the long table is a huge shelf that takes up the entire wall, and it is filled with books: my books and Old-Man's books. I kept the center of the room bare so I could have enough space to practice techniques, but at the very back corner are a little table and two chairs. That area was for the rare occasions I ate at home. The opposite corner was next to a door which led to my small bedroom.

I opened the door, walked in, and lit the candles so I could see. There were originally two pillow-beds, but I combined them into one. This left enough room for my variety of cloths lying around, which I made clothes from. My sewing kit is somewhere in the chaos. My clothes drawer is backed into a dark corner.

While I ran my hand through my coarse hair, I recalled what type of outfits I would need for my practicing, and I immediately slapped my forehead when I realized I would definitely need my working clothes. And brilliant me left them at Al-Roze's shop.

"Damn!" I really do not want to go back there.

Fortunately the day is still young, and there are other things to do before obtaining my work clothes.

I opened the top drawer and pulled out a white hijab. I exited my room while wrapping the hijab around my head. In the hallway, I grabbed a vase and pulled the cork out. I greedily drank the water inside then set it down and plugged it again. I faced the dry fountain after wiping the excess water from my mouth. Like many times before, I ran towards it and up the structure, and once my left foot landed on top of the fountain, I jumped. I easily grabbed the edge of the roof with both hands and pulled myself up again. There is a narrow alleyway right next to the east side of my home where I could jump down in peace.

Once my feet hit the ground, I straightened while brushing off my tunic and walked with the crowd in the street. To be completely honest, I am not sure if Al-Roze's wife knows about her husband's extra career, but she knows me and believes me to be the cashier of the incense shop. Sadly, that is not too far from the truth.

In any case, I _really_ do not want to enter his store for a long while, and there is no better way to preoccupy one's self than doing someone else's chores…

Allah, what am I thinking?

Too little time had passed before I found the Al-Roze household home. I politely knocked, and to my surprise a very little boy answered the door.

I blinked, and he blinked in return.

"Wha… Hello…! Uh, where's your mother?" I asked the walking baby.

"Who is there?!" A very frantic young woman rushed around the corner with a broom in hand.

My eyes widened, and I hastily backed away from her child. "Rabeea, it's me! Kifah? From your husband's shop?"

She halted, and her glare slowly melted away into a face of remembrance. "Yes… yes! I remember now." She lowered her broom. "I am so sorry! I had never seen your face before! Every time I have seen you, you wear that niqab." Rabeea leaned the broom against the wall and briskly walked to me. Once in front of me, she suddenly grasped my face with her hands and turned my head side to side. I could not stop the show of discomfort in my face; I am not comfortable with being handled like this.

"Are you done?"

"NO! I want to remember what you look like," she insisted. "…I'm done!" She finally released my face. We both looked down at the little boy who started to laugh. "Ridha, come here!" she cooed, picking up her son.

I titled my head. "How old is he?"

Rabeea smiled brightly and quickly tucked her black hair behind her ears. "He is two years old. I am so blessed! Did you know Shazeb and I were trying for children for over a decade? And then Ridha was conceived!" she cuddled him close to her bosom. Suddenly with seriousness in her eyes, she looked at me. "Being a mother to your child is the most important job in the world… You will understand someday, Kifah!" And her giddiness returned full force.

I did not know how to respond, so I didn't. After letting Rabeea bond with Ridha for a few minutes, I coughed, regaining her attention. "Are there any chores I can do for you? I can go to the market or something."

Her eyes brightened in excitement. "Actually there are a lot of things I need to do today, and my husband is still attending his shop… Oh! Could you watch Ridha for me?"

I blinked in bewilderment. Me… look after a two year old child?

"…You want _me_ to take care of him? But you officially met me just today!" I tried coming up with true yet believable excuses.

Rabeea's straight face did not falter. "So? You have worked for my husband for three years, and he has not complained about you at all. And that is true; I just officially met you, but you seem like a good woman to me!" she smiled again. My God, she smiles a lot.

Inwardly I frowned. This woman's… I'm not sure if she is naïve or stupid. Maybe both. Either way, I hope she is not like this around strangers or the guards otherwise she is going to endanger herself.

By the time I snapped out of my thoughts, Rabeea had on her hijab and a large basket hanging from her arm. After kissing her son's cheeks and instructing me on how to take care of him within ten seconds, she ran out the door.

I blinked, and Ridha started crying.

Allah, why? What did I do?

"No, no! Please don't cry!" I begged the baby, moving to pick him up but hesitant to actually touch him. "Uh… Uhm!" Somewhat alarmed, I finally picked him up and cradled him in my arms, rocking back and forth. His crying did not cease!

"Uh… Uh…" I looked around as if trying to locate something to help me. Suddenly I felt pressure on my right breast, and I looked down to see Ridha's mouth pressed against it. Oh, he's hungry. "Boy, I am not your mother, nor your wet nurse. Stop that!" While he vigorously tried to breastfeed, I walked around the house looking for the kitchen. I eventually found it, and on the island counter is a pile of apples. I prayed he could stomach those!

Carefully I set Ridha on the ground, and his crying resumed. As quickly as possible I found a kitchen knife and cut one apple into small pieces. I slid them onto a plate and scooped Ridha into my left arm. Once we returned to the living room I lowered Ridha against a pile of pillows and set the plate in front of him. And he continued crying!

_Damn it! _

"They are apples. Eat them," I insisted. To prove they were tasty, I picked up a piece and ate it. The crying stopped. Huh?

Ridha's dark, dark brown eyes stared at me with fascination. Wondering if it really worked, I picked up another piece and ate it. Suddenly, Ridha's tiny arms stretched over the pieces, and he spoke, "My apples!"

I could not help but smile. Jealousy does wonders. Ridha began grabbing the pieces and eating them one by one. I continued monitoring to make sure he did not somehow choke himself.

For the next several hours the baby and I played a "response" game. He would cry; I would find ways to make him not cry. Surprisingly, it took me a maximum of ten minutes to get him to stop crying. But after a while, he would start crying again. During that time I prayed his mother would return soon. I am not a mother, and I certainly do not nurture lives.

_Finally_ the door opened, and Rabeea entered with her large basket full of purchased merchandise. At that moment I was making funny faces at Ridha, but I promptly stopped upon hearing her enter. She called out to us, and I picked up Ridha and walked to Rabeea. She gasped and smiled upon seeing her baby, and I carefully handed him to her. Of course, she started cuddling and talking to him.

I was about to exit the house when she called my name, stopping me.

"Wait a moment!" she exclaimed and put down her son. Going through her basket, she eventually pulled out a large bag obviously filled with… something. She handed it to me, beckoning me to take it. Curious, my right hand grabbed it, and I opened the bag immediately.

My eyes widened. "These are my-"

Rabeea explained, "Shazeb asked me to give that to you when I visited his shop. He said he put something you left behind in there. I'm glad you recognize it!" She left the room with the basket, and Ridha obediently followed his mother.

I left.

A few hours passed before I finally saw the uniquely designed building called my home. As usual, I found an isolated spot to run and climb up the wall to reach the rooftop. Soon I approached the entrance and leaped down due to habit.

"Oh, shit!" I tried twisting my feet away from the empty vase I spotted at the last minute, but the landing still caused it to fall over and break on the ground. My feet stepped to the floor after landing on the fountain awkwardly so not to lose balance. I could have sworn I placed the vase next to the fountain, not on it.

This greatly alarmed me. Who came into my house?

Setting the bag down on the floor and reaching for my knives, I carefully snuck to the arch and peaked around the corner.

My eyes widened and adrenaline shot through my body as a knife came straight at me!


	2. Investigation

**Medieval Muslim Dinar is the most important coin in currency, consisting of pure gold weighing an average of 4.****4 g (1/100 lb.) each.**

**Medieval Muslim Dirham consists of a pure silver coin weighing an average of 3 g (7/1000 lb.) each.**

**Dinaq is a denomination used when attached to a dinar or dirham, describing that the coin's value (by weight) has been reduced by 0.5 g (1/1000 lb.) In other words: it's a less valuable version of the coin.**

* * *

My eyes widened and adrenaline shot through my body as a knife came straight at me!

The hand already gripping a throwing knife withdrew and threw it towards the oncoming knife, knocking it off course towards the ceiling. My right hand tightly gripped but released my dagger, and I reached for more throwing knives while leaping to the other side of the archway. I managed to dodge the two throwing knives that were now imbedded in the hallway wall.

Reacting immediately, my body dove into the main room while hurling the knives towards the intruder, allowing me enough time to tumble roll and jump behind the desk for cover. Upon landing hard, I looked up and saw a knife stick into a book on the bookshelf; I had barely dodged it in time. I equipped my dagger in my left hand and withdrew another knife. With limited options, I stood up to face the intruder. As expected, the intruder threw another knife, and I barely countered it. Before the intruder could react, I jumped towards him with my weapon poised for his right eye. The intruder flicked his left hand while raising it for my neck.

White flooded my vision for a split second. Blinking, I noticed my dagger, still in my left hand, is stopped in front of the intruder's face. My attack was _stopped_ by the intruder's right hand gripping my left wrist. Meanwhile, my right hand is gripping and pushing the intruder's left wrist with all of my might!

Glancing towards it, I realized why: there is a thin, long, _blood-stained_ blade protruding from the intruder's… vambrace?

I couldn't hold back my aghast. "What the f-"

The intruder suddenly brought up their knee and connected it to my stomach. I arched forward, coughing up saliva in silence due to the immense force in the attack. My body convulsed violently, and I staggered backwards while releasing the intruder. However, the intruder maintained a tight grip on my wrist, so I could not get very far away.

Instead of stabbing me with his hidden weapon like I expected, the intruder's grip on my wrist tightened and tightened, bruising it and cutting off blood flow to my hand. I swung my right fist for the intruder's face, but to my surprise the hidden blade disappeared back into the vambrace, allowing my fist to be caught by his left hand.

Refusing to give up, I pushed against the intruder, but I cannot force a single budge!

I thought about kicking, but now studying the intruder, I knew it would not work. This intruder, this _man_ is taller than me by a full head and a half, and judging by the shape of his arms, very muscular. Even though he wears a white hood, I could look up and clearly see his face due to our height difference.

Wait, a white hood?

I focused on his clothing and recognized the white, scholar-mocking tunic. The same leather strap wrapped around the man's back came together in the front, attaching to a silver triangle piece resting against the intruder's right breast. Evidently, his leather belt was concealing a red sash wrapped around his waist and hanging out in the front. I immediately recognized the five empty throwing knife holsters attached to the belt.

The intruder pushed back in retaliation to my struggle, and I growled in frustration as I was forced to step back to avoid losing balance.

His tight grip increased again, causing me to finally cry out in pain for my wrist and release my dagger. The fake scholar kicked my weapon away then released my wrist. I refused to further damage my pride and resisted the urge to nurse my hand.

"Ow!" I reacted to the sudden feel of my hair being pulled.

Rubbing my aching scalp, I looked back at the man, who was holding and just tossed away my white hijab.

The fucking intruder just yanked my hijab off and nearly taken some of my hair with it!

"What is the matter with you?! Who are you, and what are you doing in my house?!" I looked up at his face, demanding answers.

The corners of the intruder's mouth were slightly dipped down, giving away his frown. His jaw line is quite matured, and there is a growing layer of fuzz which would later become a beard. His nose is a little small, almost adorable looking. I could not tell if it was natural or if he was glaring, but his eyes are rather slanted. Overall, he is cute and intimidating, and in any other situation I would appreciate this.

Right now I want to kill him!

"You are a girl," he suddenly announced.

I stared at him, completely dead-panned. "What a brilliant observation, mister. Anything else obvious you want to tell me?"

He ignored my sarcastic remark and suddenly gripped my throat. My hands instinctively pulled at his fingers, trying to pry them away while scratching them with my nails. Unfortunately, I cannot scratch his right hand and forearm because it is protected by another vambrace!

The intruder scowled and slammed me against the nearest wall, but I refused to stop. He flicked his left wrist, revealing his hidden blade, and I immediately stilled when he hovered it in front of my right eye.

I could actually see the brief relief in his body language.

"Tell me what I want to know, girl, or be a dead child," the fake scholar threatened.

I almost laughed. "Who the _fuck_ do you think you are to be able to intimidate _me_?" _And how arrogant is he to call me a _child_?_

The blade came closer, about a finger's width away from my eye. I could feel sweat beading up enough on my forehead and rolling down the sides of my face. Suddenly my feet could not feel the floor; the man had dragged me up the wall to reach his eye level.

He tightened his grip and forced eye contact.

I can see my death in his eyes.

"I am an assassin," he revealed.

My eyes widened, and my thoughts began racing, unorganized and panicked. _FUCK!_

_This man is an assassin- I've seen his face- I don't have any knives left- I'm an assassin, too- WHAT THE HELL AM I GOING TO DO- I've seen his face- He's a man- THINK- None of my victims have _ever_ seen my face and lived to tell it- The other fake scholar killed the man he was talking to- I've seen his face- What would I do if our situations were reversed- I've seen his face!_

My eyes remained widened with dreaded realization. After he receives the information he wants, he is going to kill me.

I forced my body to relax so I could take in a long, silent breath despite my squeezed neck. Evidently, he took this as a sign of defeat. I will humor him for a while.

He asked his first question, "Why were you spying on me?"

I raised an eyebrow in sincere confusion. "What?"

"Do not play dumb! I caught you spying on my investigation and followed you to your hideout. How else do you think I got here?"

My face became blank from disbelief. I was _caught_?

I thought fast. "Oh! You're the scholar that beat that man in a fist fight!"

The man's eyes narrowed. "You saw me kill him, too."

My façade died since there was no point in lying.

"That was an accident," I explained slowly. "I did not mean to spy on you. I heard noises and got curious, alright? And this is not my 'hideout.' This is my home."

The man paused, then immediately continued, "Who do you work for?"

"I work for no one but myself," I testified with certainty despite my eyes hardening. Still, I refuse to be a red-bellied cowardice traitor and betray Al-Roze!

This male assassin chose not to respond or even react. During our entire conversation, the assassin never blinked or broke eye contact.

After a minute of contemplating silence, he stated, "You have no fathom of what this place is… was."

_What the fuck is he talking about?_ Before I could interrogate him, he lowered my body till my feet touched the floor. He lowered his hidden blade, but I did not like the fact it was now perpendicular to my neck.

"I am done," he finally spoke.

My survival instincts began alerting me of my impending death.

"…I'm sorry-"

"I forgot to tell you one piece of information I think you will want to hear," I quickly interrupted his little farewell speech. Fortunately, he took that as a last minute attempt to save my skin; he was probably expecting a full confession about me being… whoever he thought I was.

After I was silent for a few moments, the man demanded the information. I smirked darkly, somewhat startling him.

"I am an assassin."

Unexpectedly, his face showed confusion and doubt. After tracking me, invading my home, fighting me with throwing knives and blades, he does not believe I am an assassin? I am obviously not a normal woman!

Before he could question me, I thrust my knee forward and upward as hard as I could and successfully hit his loins. He cried out in pain and fell to his knees then the ground, releasing me and guarding his crotch with his forearms.

Not wasting time, I leaped towards where my dagger was, picked it up, and placed it in its holder. Knowing through recent experience that it is impossible to defeat this assassin in close quarter combat, I decided to flight and sprinted out of the room. I expertly grabbed my bag of working clothes while running towards the fountain. Faster than I've ever done before, I ran up the fountain and jumped towards the roof, gripping the edge with my free hand and effortlessly pulling myself up. Glancing behind me, I saw the intruder staggering towards the fountain, looking rather furious.

"Damn it!" I cursed and ran towards another rooftop and jumped. I almost fucking tripped upon landing, and I glared at my sandals. If I am going to free-run on rooftops, I cannot do it while wearing these! Looking around, I spotted a vacant alleyway and jumped down. Luckily, I landed near an unoccupied garden room and hid inside. I opened the bag and pulled the contents out, including my boots.

_Thank you, Shazeb!_

Hastily I took off my silk tunic and equipped my brushed cotton shirt and pants and leather boots. I was about to leave, but hesitated when I remembered I obviously look like an assassin. Looking at my tunic brought old ideas of deception, and I put it on over my working clothes. The layering was odd since most people wear the mask over the tunic, not the other way around, but it will have to do. Now at a glance, people will mistake me for a very young man.

I took a step towards the exit and stopped, looking down at my legs concealed by the tunic. Even my ankles were concealed since it was made to cover the modesty of a woman. Kneeling down, I gripped the bottom of the tunic and ripped it upward by a foot. Satisfied with the length, I evenly ripped around the tunic, making a long strand of cloth and enough room for my legs and feet to free-run.

Really not wishing to leave my sandals behind, I placed them and the cloth into the bag, and I hid the bag behind a large bush. Finally, I exited the room and walked nonchalantly into the streets.

Well, that assassin knows where I live, and he is probably going to monitor my house for weeks or until he discovers my location. And that means I need to decide what my temporary location is going to be!

My first thought was Al-Roze, but I immediately denied it. This situation is my fault, and my life should be the only one in jeopardy… God, when did I become so soft?

In any case, I am certain Shazeb would send me away in order to protect his family while his wife would foolishly open her home.

Still, I have no other options on hand.

I sighed in frustration and began for the Al-Roze house. Hopefully this will work, somehow.

After three hours of walking in the still blazing evening sun, I reached the household and knocked on the door. I heard the sounds of running and Rabeea yelling for her husband's name as she opened the door. To her disappointment and horror and my curiosity, I am here instead of Shazeb.

"Who are you?!" she yelled with fright and anger.

"Rabeea, relax!" I whispered and lifted the front of my niqab so she could see my face.

She became overjoyed at seeing a friendly face and brought me in.

"Kifah, I am glad to see you so soon, but why are you dressed like a man?" Rabeea understandably eyed me strangely.

"It is a long and complicated story, but believe me; I am doing this for my safety," I explained while pulling my niqab back down. Thank Allah, she is too nice for her own good. "Where is your husband?"

Rabeea's expression returned to distraught. "I have not seen him since I went shopping! He was supposed to be here an hour ago!"

Even with my face covered, I tried not to show alarm. "Maybe he went to the market?"

The housewife shook her head. "No! He always returns home on time. No, something is wrong…" Suddenly she gripped my shoulders and pleaded, "Kifah, could you find him, please? I have to stay and watch Ridha… and you probably know where he could be more than I." Her body language became very depressed.

The two year old boy sensed his mother's feelings and began crying. Rabeea immediately released me and went to comfort her son.

I stared at the mother cuddling and trying to calm down her crying baby.

"_Daddy!" a little girl's voice shrilled at what she witnessed through the crack of the door._

"_Be quiet!"_

"_But he-"_

_The girl's mouth was covered by her mother's hand in an attempt to silence her._

Without saying a word, I turned around and exited the house, slamming the door behind me.

The first step to finding Al-Roze is looking for the last place anyone saw him, so I began running to his shop.

I had to be cautious and avoid running near the patrolling guards, but it was worth it since I reached the incense shop within half the normal time.

The place is obviously closed because the door is shut, and I peaked in through the windows. Nothing looks out of the ordinary, but I jumped inside through the window to make sure. Strolling towards the front desk, I searched through it. Everything looks in place; no money was left behind.

I walked into the back room, opened the trap door, and jumped down. Using three years of muscle memory, I found the striking stones and lit a candle so I could see inside the tavern. The metal and wooden boxes are under the desk, as usual. The desk is barren, aside from another candle, alerting me that Al-Roze did hide the papers like usual.

At the end of the room is a water barrel, and I stood in front of it and dipped my arm inside. I reached for the bottom and found what I was looking for. Pulling out a tied leather bag, I set it on the desk. Within the thick bag of leather is a corked clay jar, and I uncorked it. After shaking my hand dry, I pulled out the papers hidden within and scanned through them, verifying their existence and authenticity.

Satisfied after reading them, I undid my work and re-hid the crucial business papers. I finally shook my hand and arm dry while thinking of where Al-Roze might have decided to go before reaching home.

I put out the candle and climbed up the latter to the back room. After closing the trap door, I exited the shop through the windows and stood in the front, thinking.

Something must have distracted him on his way home, so I recalled the path he took when I followed him home and mimicked it.

Halfway to his house, I passed by the Middle District's market, and of course there were guards patrolling the place. I slowly stopped in the middle of the street, and thankfully not enough people were around to mind. The sun is about to set, so almost everyone is home already. Rather curious, I looked towards the market stands. One of them was selling flowers, and I walked towards it in the hopes of the seller having seen Al-Roze. By the time I reached it, the merchant was already discussing business with a customer. On the far side of the stand, I waited patiently for my turn.

After a few minutes, my curious mind became very bored, and I gazed at the flowers to appreciate their colors. Carefully I picked up a set and sniffed them through my mask.

"Thief!"

A guard captain suddenly gripped my forearm and jerked me away from the stand, catching me off guard. I stumbled while dropping the flowers.

I coughed, trying to lower the pitch of my voice, but all I can manage right now is sounding like a boy growing into a man. "What is the meaning of this?" I demanded.

The captain replied, sneering, "You were stealing those flowers!" This alerted the merchant and the few surrounding citizens.

Considering all that I have experienced today, my patience was already hanging on a thin string; the string broke.

I punched the captain right in the nose, bloodying it and definitely breaking it. The captain obviously did not expect retaliation since he released my arm, staggering backwards and holding his fucked nose while screaming profanities.

I yelled over his voice, "Lying son of a whore! I was thinking about buying them! Guess I will not now, huh?" I glanced at the seller. However, he is looking past me in fright. Following his gaze, I realized why.

The three accompanying guards had drawn their swords, and the captain is seething with a red face.

Clicking my tongue, I began thinking that maybe punching him in the face was a bad idea despite how satisfying it felt.

The captain equipped his sword, and I debated whether I should fight or flight. After all, it has been a year since I killed a guard. Then again, it _has_ been a year since I killed a guard, and I really want to practice again…

"Fight it is!" I announced with my adrenaline and excitement boiling my blood. Quickly I slid my hand within my clothes and withdrew my dagger, using it in time to block a strike from the closest guard. I counter attacked by punching the base of his chest. The guard was briefly stunned by the resulting strong gag reflex, and I took advantage of this and stabbed his eye. The first dead guard fell with a thud, and two of his colleagues recoiled in disgust.

The captain pointed at me. "Fucking lowly dog!" he roared and rushed at me while charging his swing.

I side-stepped to the right, dodging his sword, and I swung to the exposed portion of the back of his neck. To my pleasure, the dagger buried up to the hilt with the tip sticking out of the other side. However, not wanting to waste time, I quickly withdrew my weapon and threw it towards the nearest guard. The second guard and the captain slumped and fell at the same time; granted the second guard has a dagger buried in his right eye, unlike his captain.

The last guard kept redirecting his gaze towards his fallen colleagues, his face full of terror and rising panic.

"Ahem," I got his attention.

The guard looked at me, and I gestured for him to attack. He looked back at the new corpses and ran away, voicing surrender like a squealing baby.

Dark, bellied laughter erupted from my mouth, and I could not stop it.

After a minute, it finally died down, and I firmly clamped my mouth shut. With an eerie silence I retrieved my blade, cleaned it, and placed it in its sheath.

Looking around, the flower merchant and customers had long run away. The only person I could locate was an old beggar. His expression is full of boredom and apathy; he had seen such abuse of power for decades now. Even his hand is not extended for coin, and much to my disgust I can see and count the old man's ribs.

Filled with empathy, I walked to the beggar and gave him enough dinaq dirhams to purchase food for a few days. He curtly thanked me and hid the money in his turban.

"How long do you sit here at the market?" I wondered.

"All day. A different market every day," he briefly answered.

I prayed to Allah my intuition was right. "Can you recall anyone being wrongly arrested within the past few hours?"

The beggar did not even blink. "A young boy, a young woman, and a man."

The sun is setting, and I knew I would have to start really investigating soon.

"Did the man have both a mustache and beard but not connected?"

He nodded.

"Were his clothes colored blue?"

Again, he nodded.

I leaned forward in anticipation. "Was he limping a little? Did it look like his right leg was injured?"

"Allah, yes! He smelled of many incenses," the old man commented, becoming annoyed at my questions.

My eyes brightened. "Do you know what happened to him? Please, he is my close friend."

After sighing heavily, he obliged. "The guards beat him and dragged him away to the dungeons. Probably try to steal his money or blackmail him."

I frowned at this information, but I decided to not upset him any further and blessed him for his cooperation.

Walking away, I remembered that Jerusalem has one small fortress designated for prisoners. It was rare to hold many prisoners since most guards merely punish their arrestees on sight for committing typical crimes or being at the wrong place at the wrong time. But there is no reason for the old beggar to lie, and his look was not demented or insane.

Unfortunately, the reality of the situation or, rather, the only direct method of finding Al-Roze in the dungeons unpleasantly hit me.

I walked far away from the scene of corpses but still managed to locate a small group of patrollers. I tried to ask the patrolling guards where the prisoners' fortress was located.

The captain of the group scoffed and mocked such a question.

"You'll know if you don't stop pestering me, boy! Now fuck off!"

Then I had my most brilliantly stupid idea ever.

I gave a genuine grin, though no one could see it.

"Really?"

I promptly pushed him against the nearest wall. The soldier's face reddened in embarrassment and fury. The other two unsheathed their swords. Yes, there was a chance these guards would try to kill me on the spot instead of taking me to the dungeons, but what other opportunity did I have?

The captain commanded his men to subdue me and take me to be locked up with the others. I allowed them to grab me by the arms and drag me along with them.

To my surprise, we did not approach a district border line. We approached the Rich District's market. What in the world?

Eventually, the guards guided me behind a large and prestige butcher shop that was obviously closed but still occupied.

_Okay... Why are we here?_

We entered through the open back door and back rooms. My eyebrows furrowed in horror at seeing a cage holding four men and two women, all of lower class. They were confused as well; some even look absolutely terrified.

Why are the guards sending arrestees here?

An obese man covered in dried blood entered the room. I assumed he is the head butcher given all of the blood. He unlocked the cell, and the guards quickly pushed me in. Before I could recover myself, the butcher locked the door behind me and gave the guards bags of coins.

My eyes widened as one rather disturbing explanation for this situation came to my mind. Then an even more disturbing theory entered my mind.

Turning to the other prisoners, I wondered, "Have any of you seen a middle-aged husband named Shazeb Al-Roze?"


	3. Rescue

Turning to the other prisoners, I wondered, "Have any of you seen a middle-aged husband named Shazeb Al-Roze?"

The other prisoners were too skittish to answer my question since the ridiculously fat man started lazily pointing his fat index finger from person to person. The guards, happy with their extra pay left to continue patrolling.

_Bastards!_

The butcher crookedly grinned while pointing towards one of the women. She widened her eyes in terror. The man suddenly yelled for his disciples to come. Two boys entered, also wearing aprons. They do not have nearly as much blood on them as their master, but I noticed the disturbingly apathetic looks in their eyes.

I sighed. I am so sick and tired of this day.

A third disciple hastily entered the room, apologizing for his tardiness. I suppressed my shocked expression. This disciple has barely any blood on him. Instead of in his early teens, he looks close to my age, maybe younger. But most importantly, he does not look _insane._ In fact, he looks _grimaced_.

I could not hold back my frustration. "Just what are you doing?! Get me out of here!" I yelled at him.

The older disciple maintained a blank face, but I can see that his eyes hold fucking pity and a certain gleam, a gleam I have had many times myself.

My thoughts were disturbed when the butcher began berating him for disgusting reasons. Somehow he still kept up that blank expression, but he cannot lie to me.

I turned my head to the chosen young woman who was already crying her eyes out, sobbing that she was going to die. I frowned. The other woman is trying to be comforting, and the men are debating the butcher's intentions.

Ignorance can be bad, but denial can be even worse.

I leaned back against the wall, crossing my arms. I need to get out of here!

The sound of a turning lock brought my attention to the door. The two boys surrounded the cage, trying to hold cleavers in a threatening manner. Strangely, only the oldest disciple entered the cage, obviously for the woman. The closest man moved to punch him, but the disciple quickly kicked him back to the bars. Before the other two young men could react, he struck the base of their throats, and they fell on their knees while clutching their necks.

My eyebrows lifted. _Impressive__._

The disciple barely hesitated before slapping the defending woman away from the crying one. Gripping her arms, he dragged her up and towards the exit, putting up with her resistance. He quickly scanned me to see if I would attempt to stop him. I had already decided against it.

Once the master locked the cage, he grabbed the woman by her hair, slapping her face so hard she lost consciousness. The fast disciple quickly adjusted his hold on the unconscious woman so he could continue carrying her.

Seemingly satisfied, the obese master gave his set of keys to one of the boys.

"Lock down the shop. She needs to be gutted; she will make a lot of noise." His gurgling voice made my skin crawl. The butcher then turned to the oldest disciple and addressed him, "I believe you are ready to learn my secrets. Come; we will gut her together." The disciple nodded his head.

The butcher yelled at his boys to return to their duties, and the demented group finally left the room.

"See?! I told you! They're going to cut us up and serve us fucking tomorrow!" the man who was kicked screeched frantically. The last woman began crying at those words.

I turned to him. "When did you get here?"

He looked at me confused. "What?"

I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. "_When_ did you get here? How long have you been here?"

He looked surprised for a moment before thinking about it. Idiot.

"…Maybe four hours?"

"What about the others?"

The two men rose to their feet while still rubbing their necks. "We were captured at the same time yesterday," one revealed.

Looking at them, I questioned, "When was that?"

"The sun was about to set," the other responded.

Biting the inside of my lip, I asked the same questions to the very young woman. If she heard me, she ignored me. I immediately stood before her and gripped her chin, forcing her to look at me. "I don't have time for your crying and neither does your friend. Answer me _now_."

Even though she froze in terror, tears continued to well up and stream down her face. Now she does not fear the butcher, she fears me.

To my surprise, she jerked her chin out of my hand and wiped her face dry with her sleeves. I took a moment to study her clothes. Looking at her attire, I realized she is not only low class but a wife. She is rather young for a wife.

"My _sister_ and I were… _sold_ to the butcher by our husbands. We've been here since today's morning," she bitterly told me.

"So have any of you encountered a man named Shazeb Al-Roze today?" They all shook their heads.

Having my answers, I returned to the solitary side of the cage. I really wish I could pass through walls like the wind…

I closed my eyes, thinking of what to do.

Some time passed before I reopened my eyes. I considered all of the possibilities and their possible outcomes, but in the end I have to enact the one that is most likely to have "satisfying" results…

Well, I hope the disciple with the keys is within earshot of me.

Going to the front bars, I gripped them and took a deep breath.

"Hey! Let me out!" I screamed then shook the bars. "Let me out of here! _Hey_!" I kicked the bars to produce more noise.

The elder man grabbed me, trying to stop my frenzy. "Boy, stop that! They'll kill you _early_."

Perfect.

I muttered a quick apology and elbowed his stomach so he would release me. He staggered back, cursing me while cupping his bruised belly.

I returned my grip on the bars, taking another deep breath. "Hey?! Can you hear me, or are you deaf?! Let me out!"

I waited for a moment, ignoring the others calling me a suicidal fool and other various insults.

"…Let! Me! _Out_!"

Finally, someone yelled in frustration, and the sounds of running feet confirmed that I was heard. I felt triumphant at my gamble. The disciple with the keys heard me, and he brought me a knife!

He angrily jeered at me, pointing his cleaver while stepping closer to the prison. "Shut up before I cut out your tongue!"

Even though he could not see it, I still smirked. "You lack the balls, bitch," I purred, pressing my crotch against the bars to increase the insult.

His childish face flushed, clearly embarrassed and furious. He impulsively thrust his knife towards me. I quickly side stepped to avoid it and grabbed his wrist. I pulled it further within the cage, forcing him closer until his shoulder kept the rest of his body from passing the bars. I twisted his wrist so his elbow faced me and stretched his arm out as much as I could. The boy yelled in protest and for help. Still gripping his wrist with my right hand, I brought back my left hand and hit his elbow away from me as hard as I could while pulling his wrist towards me. The anticipated crack was heard as was the disciple's screams of pain and his cleaver falling to the cell's floor.

I refused to risk him escaping, so I kept my grip on his wrist while kneeling to grab the knife. I could feel the others' frightened and fidgety gazes on me. It was starting to get annoying. I turned my head enough till my left eye caught theirs, and I glared at them with a simple message.

_Stop it._

Hesitantly they adverted their looks to something else. I stood up and faced the crying and flailing boy, still trying to comfort and free his broken arm.

"Unlock the door."

He shook his head furiously. So, he still fears his master more than me, huh? Well, that is too bad.

I released his wrist. Before he could react, I stretched my right arm past the bars and gripped a handful of hair on his head. I pulled his hair towards me so hard, his head almost fit between the bars. My armed hand quickly extended out of the cell and curled around to the back of his head. I pushed the tip of the cleaver first into the base of his head then suddenly to its hilt. I watched the disciple's eyes roll up while his mouth opened, revealing the tip sticking out of the back of his mouth. As a result, blood pooled and traveled down his throat.

Not hearing any gurgling sounds, I released his hair, unintentionally taking some with me. His body collapsed to its knees but still leaned against the bars since his head remained stuck between them. At the same time, I smoothly removed the bloodied knife from the boy's nape.

The female prisoner finally screamed. I wondered when she was going to do that.

I leaned down and patted the corpse. "Found them," I announced to myself. I pulled the keys from his belt and went to the door. Once I unlocked it, I slipped the keys into my boots and pushed the door open. I exited and leaned next to the corpse, using the disciple's apron to wipe the blood from the cleaver since his back is soaked.

"You-you _monster_!" the young woman frighteningly stuttered.

"You easily murdered him…" the oldest man mumbled, still absorbing the event he witnessed.

_The half-naked man roared upon seeing the twelve year old boy's unmoving body. He knew the boy was dead due to a hole in his right eye, leading to his brain and leaking blood. The father had seen many deaths in his lifetime, but this cut through his very heart._

_The young teenaged girl lifted the kitchen knife, pointing it towards her true target._

"_You're next."_

I eventually realized the others were so terrified of me they remained in their open cell.

Raising my head to them, rather aggravated, I tried to console them, "I know. I'm sorry you had to see that, but I wanted to get out of here. You guys are free now, too… Leave. Don't alert the guards, don't tell anyone about this. Just leave, and try to avoid arrests from now on. Alright?"

The four men were hesitant at first, but they sprinted out of their cage and out of the back door, back to their homes and families. The woman, however, remained where she was.

"What about my sister?" she demanded.

I ignored her. In response, she finally got out of the cell and slapped me. I held my cheek through the cloth. I really did not expect that.

"You better rescue my sister! I don't care what you do!" she fumed.

I glared at her, promptly slapping her back. How dare she?

She cried out. Tears forming, she held her swelling cheek and instinctively backed away from me. Stupid girl!

"Fuck you! You want to rescue your sister, _you_ rescue her. I have my own friend to find."

I gripped the cleaver and stood up. She finally ran out of the shop, crying for her lost sister.

I turned away and walked further into the butcher shop. Soon I encountered the sights and smells of rows of hanging meat, as well as the last young disciple. The boy's eyes widened, full of shock and surprise. He is unarmed.

"H-how did you get here? W-"

I ran towards him, causing him to instinctively turn and run, but I quickly caught up to him. I tackled him to the ground, slamming his head against the floor, and he squealed like a piglet.

"Was one of your prisoners a limping man called Shazeb Al-Roze?" I interrogated.

He stayed silent and increased his struggling. I am so sick of this. I brought forth the cleaver and clumsily cut off the boy's left small finger. He wasn't silent anymore.

"Tell me! Was he here or not?!"

Tears began to flow down his scrunching face, but he started talking, "I-I-I don't k-keep up with the stocks' names!"

I angrily cut off his ring finger, eliciting another scream. "Those 'stocks' are people, you ill fuck!"

He whimpered, trying to appease me by nodding to my opinion.

My glare still remained as I continued, "Hm. If you do not keep track of their names, then who does?"

I could see his inward battle trying to determine whether he should spill the information or not. Unfortunately, the boy took too long, and I cut off his middle finger.

"AH!"

That one made me deaf for a few seconds.

"T-THE MASTER! HE KEEPS RECORDS OF WHO HE K-KILLS! I SWEAR!"

I leaned closer to my victim. "And where are these records? Huh?!"

I now studied the blood squirting from the cut appendages and openings. One good reason to wear black: it does not show blood.

The sounds of heavy tears streaming down the boy's face and hitting the ground brought my attention back to him. I swallowed the big lump in the back of my throat. _This is no time for pity._

"Mommymommymommymommymommy!" he repeatedly sobbed.

That is it; I've had enough. I got off of him and kicked his sides for good measure.

"Go home to your mother, you sick imbecile. And do not let me catch you committing such vileness ever again!" I glowered at him.

The disciple, clumsy from terror, panic, and pain, managed to stand up and somewhat stagger and run away at the same time out of the room.

Once he was gone, I groaned, gripping the sides of my head after dropping the bloody meat cleaver. My recent streak of emotionally fueled murderous actions is beginning to wear on my mind. I forced years of repressed memories and emotions back down; I refuse to lose myself again!

Eventually I calmed down, and my initial task at hand returned, overruling completely.

_How am I going to locate Al-Roze now?_

There was nothing more I could do here. I exited the butcher shop through the back entrance, coming face to face with a familiar hooded figure. Panic struck my face; thank Allah I am wearing this mask! But what business does he have here?

Suddenly my right hand interrupted the hidden blade's path to my stomach. Forcing my voice to reach lower pitch, I tried to look confidently at the assassin's face without making eye contact in fear he would recognize me.

"Whoa! Stranger, I do not work here! I just escaped!"

His eyes narrowed in suspicion. "And why should I believe you, boy?" Again with the child-calling!

Looking around for a means of escape, I spotted the boy I had tortured lying a few feet away on the ground. A pool of blood surrounded his neck.

"Did you kill that employee over there?"

The assassin's attention and strength behind his weapon did not falter. "Make your point, fast." To prove he was serious, he pushed the blade further towards me, forcing me to exhaust more of my strength to push it back.

I hurried my case, "His left middle, ring, and last fingers were cut off, and recently, right? I am sure you noticed this. Well, I did that. I escaped, tried to force him to tell me where my missing friend was, but even after I cut off his fingers he would not. So I let him go."

He did not hesitate to question, "And where is the weapon you used to do that?"

I could not help replying smugly, "I dropped it inside the building, and I can show it to you if that will make you feel better." The tip of the blade suddenly reached my tunic, indicating I was pushing his limits. Granted, that was probably my fault…

"Show me."

Happily complying, I side walked back into the building so I could see where I was going and keep an eye on the assassin trying to kill me. As promised, I led him to the meat room where the bloodied cleaver rested on the floor.

"Oh, I also killed the employee against the cage, too."

The assassin eyed me strangely, and I could not read his intentions towards me yet. Thankfully, he retracted his blade and left the room. I followed but made sure to stay out of his attack range. The white-clothed man patted down the corpse next to the cell, obviously trying to find something.

Guessing what he was looking for, I pulled the keys from my boots and dangled them before me.

He turned his head towards the sound and immediately reached for them, but I withdrew them before he could take them.

Annoyed, he demanded that I hand them over. I shook my head. "I want your help first."

"What?" he snapped.

I really hope this will not end in my death. "I still have not found my missing friend, and I want you to help me find him… or at least verify that this sick business did not sell him as product," I verbally spat at the notion. After I find Al-Roze, I might ask him to find someone who will pay for the butcher's demise.

The assassin was silent at first. Then he extended an open hand. "I am on private business… but I will make an exception for your mind's sake, boy."

Risking this gamble, I dropped the keys into his palm. He gripped them and walked past me into another room. After releasing a breath I did not even know I was holding, I followed the man, but maintained a safe distance.

We came upon a locked door made of metal, but the assassin managed to open the door using the keys. He peaked in, and his body immediately stiffened.

I tried to see inside, but his height and body blocked the view. "What is it?" I wondered curiously.

He spun around, looking unnervingly serious. "Stay here," he ordered, leaving no room for argument.

Frowning, I crossed my arms in reluctant compliance. Satisfied, the assassin entered the room and closed the door behind him, leaving me alone here.

I'm not sure how much time passed; I could not even hear what was occurring on the other side of the door!

The sliding of metal alerted me, and to my relief the metal door reopened. The assassin and the older disciple emerged, the taller of the two holding a bloodied feather while the other carried a book. The disciple saw me, and his eyes widened in recognition.

"You did escape!"

I nodded. The assassin placed his blood soaked feather in a pouch attached to his belt, and he gestured to the younger man.

"Look for any names this boy gives you."

My eye twitched. "Shazeb Al-Roze, if you please," I forced out. Well, this fake-disciple's fighting abilities were no longer a mystery to me. He worked together with the fake-scholar; that much I could discern. The shorter young man opened the book and flipped through the pages, quickly reading aloud the lists upon lists of names.

After several minutes, his gaze lifted from the record book to me, and he frowned. "I am sorry, but your friend's name is not here."

Inwardly I rejoiced and cursed at the same time. For certain Al-Roze was not murdered here, but now I still need to reach the prisoners' fortress, preferably alive.

I bowed to the two mercenaries, very grateful for their cooperation. "Thank you. May Allah continue watching over your lives."

The fake-disciple smiled and replied, "Safety and peace be upon you." I caught the strange, contemplating expression of the assassin, but then he nodded his head to my blessing, shielding his eyes from my view.

I quickly exited the accursed shop and returned to the streets. The moon is full again, bringing much light through the night sky. This time there are no clouds blocking its light, so I can see my surroundings better than in yesterday's night.

I am so tired… I want to go home and sleep for days. But I focused onward, determined to find the fortress. Wandering around while everyone else was asleep in their homes, it did not take long for me to attract the attention of more patrolling guards. Luckily, they were not the same bastards as before, but they were suspicious of me nonetheless.

"What are you doing out this late? Go home to your mother!" the leader barked.

I tried asking for the location of the prisoner-holding fortress again.

A guard questioned, "Why do you want to know? Well, be out with it!"

"My friend is missing, and I think he was sent there," I patiently explained.

The leader considered my motives briefly then looked towards one of his men. "Fawzi, take this boy to the fortress."

The guard immediately retaliated, "What? Why? I am not going to waste my time!"

"You were the one complaining about how boring patrolling during the night is. Besides, you are not scared of a little boy, are you?"

_I cannot wait to return to the dress of my gender._

Fawzi grumbled then called to me to follow him. I thanked the lead guard and ran to follow the subordinate. An hour later, we approached the Middle District border. During that time I made sure to count how many guards and archers I spotted from the Rich District to here.

As expected, the guard took me to the far corner of the district. Soon, a decent sized fortress came into view, and the number of patrolling guards increased. The guard Fawzi allowed me admission into the building, and he showed me to the many cells. To my surprise, there are at least twenty men most of middle class. I quickly peered into each cell and located my manager sulking in the back of his prison.

"Shazeb!" I called to him, gripping the bars separating us. He lifted his head and recognized me. I turned to my accompanying guard. "What needs to be done to set him free?"

The guard look baffled at my request. "What are you talking about? He is going to be executed in a few days!"

"What?!" I could not hold back my screech. Embarrassed, I lowered my voice again. "He was wrongly accused of stealing! A witness told me himself!"

Fawzi scoffed, folding his arms. "Well, bring forth this witness _if_ he is willing to testify for this man's freedom." Smug, smirking bastard!

"Shazeb has a wife and child!" I pleaded.

The guard began laughing, completely un-swayed. "Maybe after he dies, I will pay his wife a visit and comfort her!"

Al-Roze's face contorted in furry, and though his ferocity could be felt, he managed to subdue his voice. I am disgusted as well, and the guard could see the anger in my eyes.

I asked again with more force, "What will it take to set him free?"

Hearing the desperation in my voice, Fawzi faked contemplation before extending his hand. He wanted money, of course.

Inwardly sighing, I asked how much he wanted.

Fawzi smirked. "One hundred dirham pieces."

Both mine and Al-Roze's jaws dropped in disbelief. Who in the world carries that much money on them in public?

I felt both money pouches resting against my hip. "Fine, you snake," I agreed and pulled out my personal pouch. I pulled out and counted every silver piece, verifying there were one hundred and returned them to the pouch, but much to the guard's dissatisfaction, I did not readily give it to him.

"Release Shazeb first, then I will pay you."

"No! You will give me the money first!" he tried to intimidate me.

I raised my voice while stepping forward, partially bluffing an attack. "You will release him or you will leave with a light pocket!" _And a broken nose._

The guard debated the situation, but he eventually submitted to my demands. He unlocked the cell door, and Al-Roze stood and walked out. Once Fawzi closed the door, I gave him the pouch and thanked him for his business.

As fast as possible, my manager and I left the fortress and returned to the open streets. From there, we walked side by side to his home. For a long time he remained silent, and I did not have the energy to start a conversation.

About an hour later, his home came into sight, and he halted, alerting my attention and causing me to wait for him. I turned to face him. "What is it-Oomph!"

Al-Roze had grabbed my arms, pulling me into a hug. My mind was shocked. It was not until he pulled my niqab backwards, revealing my face that I returned to the world.

"Kifah, you have done greater good to me then my previous assassins," he revealed while cupping both sides of my face. "I have been falsely arrested before, but I have always managed to bribe the guards to release me. This time it did not work. The sick bastards were _bored_ and wanted to see an execution!"

I could not react; I was too shocked by his confessions and did not even resist his hold on my face. His hold is like that of a father's.

Al-Roze breathed heavily, becoming stressed. "It is only a miracle of God that my name has not been leaked to the underground world. I have been doing this for too long…" he muttered the last part while dipping his head.

Realizing his actions, he quickly brought his head up to resume eye contact. "My wife and I have had a son for two years now, and I will not risk my life anymore. My son needs his father."

He paused and breathed to calm himself. "…I retire."

My eyes finally blinked, and I looked at my manager. _He is not greedy after all..._

My chest became very warm, and to his surprise as well as mine, I hugged him tightly, resting my head against his chest.

"You, Rabeea, and Ridha have my blessing," I assured him and smiled warmly, though he could not see it.

His body relaxed. "I owe you. If your life is in absolute jeopardy and there is no one for you to turn to, find me," he promised.

After a few moments, he pulled away and halfway joked while pulling my niqab back to its proper place, "Really though, try to keep yourself out of trouble!"

A single laugh escaped me, and my smirk returned. I remained where I stood while watching him return to his home. As soon as he opened the front door, the overjoyed cries of Rabeea reached my ears, and I turned from the Al-Roze household and walked away.

Much to my gratification, I did not locate any patrolling guards or archers on my way home. I also appreciated the rare occurrence of walking these streets without encountering crowds of citizens. My body was thoroughly drenched in sweat from the sun, and the nighttime air felt amazing against my skin. Another quality I appreciated was the silence.

"Well, 'Kifah,' that was a very touching moment," and the silence was broken.

Recognizing the voice, I quickly whipped around, coming face-to-the assassin's chest.

It took a moment to realize how close he is. I suddenly felt panic and pushed him away with all of my might. Apparently he did not expect my retaliation, as he easily staggered backwards and fell on his bottom with a loud "oomph." Convincing himself to remain calm, he snapped out of his surprise and stood up.

_Oh, shit._ I did not know what direction I chose to run; I just ran.

I immediately heard the thumps of pursuing feet, and I pushed myself to run even faster. Now this stubborn assassin knows my name!

"Stop running!"

Allah will damn me before I do that!

Looking around, I realized I am running through the Poor District. My home is nearby, but that would not do much good considering he knows where I live!

Even though it was risky, I decided to enter the alleyways, losing the light of the moon at certain angles. My pursuer is still behind me!

My heartbeat pounded loudly in my ears. I knew there were people out there as fast as me, but I never fathomed I would be running for my life from one of them!

_I hope I have more endurance and luck,_ I thought grimly.

I lost track of how many and which turns I made through the back alleys; that is how long I have been running, but I still cannot lose the assassin! Who in the world trained him?!

"AHCK!" I screeched from tripping, but I managed to recapture my footing and return to full speed. My eyes painfully stung from excess sweat that dripped from my niqab. My entire body is sweating enough to make my tunic cling to my clothes despite the cold weather. Also I am tired, mentally and physically. If I do not escape soon, I will get caught due to _clumsiness_.

Looking ahead, I spotted some stacked boxes and wooden beams sticking out of the walls. I frowned. I am running out of options. Outrunning him is not working, outthinking him is not working, and there is no way I am going to fight him head on without throwing knives!

Getting closer to my last option with every stride, I finally made up my mind. I am going to free run in the dark.

Instinctively pushing myself to reach the boxes, I barley had time to find my rhythm before launching off of my left foot. My right foot landed on top of the box, building up energy while my left foot lifted. Before I knew it, my left foot reached the first beam. Afraid I'd lose my balance, I quickly and probably with excess force strode onto two more beams before running up the side of the wall and grabbing the edge of the rooftop. Glancing to my right, I witnessed in appalled shock as my pursuer was free running right behind me!

"Will you just leave me alone?!" I yelled at him before pulling myself up. Once I stood, I could not help scanning the rooftops, making sure there are no troublesome archers.

Hearing familiar grunts below reminded me of why I was free running in the first place, and I thought fast and jumped onto a nearby roof. Noticing it had a protruding room that led to the roof, I quickly went behind it, pressing my backside flat against the surface as much as possible. I slowly pulled out my dagger.

I heard the assassin walk along the other rooftop, no doubt trying to figure out where I went. Just my fucking luck, he leaped onto the rooftop I am on.

More sweat formed from my face, trailing down until it was absorbed by cotton. For some reason my hair line started to feel painfully itchy.

My ears suddenly twitched at hearing louder steps. He jumped onto something, but I did not dare move to see. He will eventually give up and go away, I hope.

Suddenly my entire body stiffed, alerting my conscious that someone is watching me. Resisting a gulp, I lift my head to verify who had found me. The assassin is on top of the rooftop-room, peering over the edge and starring at me.

Before I could even curse, the brute landed in front of me with surprising grace and turned around, blocking my exit. His right hand immediately raised and went for me. Acting on instinct, I grabbed his wrist with my left hand then quickly added my right for aid despite having to drop my _only weapon_ to do so.

"Kifah, calm down! I just want to talk to you!"

My eyes widened in dread.

_Fuck, fuck, fuck, FUCK!_

I grit my teeth, trying to out match the other. After a few seconds, my mind began to panic, knowing I would lose this fight. Out of desperation I brought back my right fist and tried to follow through an uppercut for his chin. He effortlessly interrupted my punch by capturing my fist with his free hand.

Black spots began to fill my vision, and my breathing increased dramatically along with violent adrenaline pumping through my limbs.

Suddenly, the older man kneed my stomach. I arched forward with spit erupting from my gaping mouth for a second time today. Despite the pain of the action nearly paralyzing my body, my panic attack continued, and the amount of black spots increased.

"Kifah, are you alright? Kifah?"

Finally, black consumed my vision, and the last thing I felt was my knees hitting the roof floor.


	4. Blackmail

_Sweet and tangy tastes overwhelmed my senses, clouding my vision; it tasted so good!_

_After swallowing, I asked, "What is this thing again?"_

"_A citrus, darling," the aged woman smiled while eating her own._

_I smiled in return and almost inhaled the rest of the fruit. Not wanting to waste anything, I licked the leaked juice from my hands and wiped them dry against my small garb. I had outgrown this tunic last month, but Mother spends mainly on rent, food, and materials. Once my knees threaten to show, I will finally get new and fitting clothes._

_I felt a bony hand running through my hair, and I leaned into the comforting touch._

"_I love you, my baby."_

_I turned to her and hugged her gently._

"_I love you too, Mommy." I closed my eyes, concentrating on the feeling of my mother's cold fingers cooling my scalp._

_Cold unexpectedly hit my face, greatly cooling me off but alarming me. What happened to Mother?_

_Another cold wave hit my face. I tried to open my eyelids, but they feel as heavy as bricks!_

_Another came, and I realized with much alarm that I cannot breathe. I cannot move either, and the muscles around my eyes twitched painfully, trying to lift my eyelids. What's going on? Where did Mother go?!_

_Another, and it actually hurt my face. _Open…

_More cold waves; my gag reflex began demanding air._

Open your eyes!

_Now I lost feeling in my face._

YOU ARE_ MY _EYES! NOW OPEN OR I WILL GOUGE YOU OUT MYSELF!

My back arched forward, causing me to sit up while I screamed awake. While breathing heavily from my dream, I noticed how thoroughly soaked I am in water. Instinctively I raised my arms away from my body and looked at myself, trying to fathom what happened.

"I was about to declare you dead if that one failed to stir you."

My head whipped to my right, seeing a familiar assassin holding a clay vase that was now empty. My eyes widened in recognition of the clay vase and the others piled next to the assassin.

"YOU WASTED MY DRINKING WATER?! WHAT THE HELL IS THE MATTER WITH YOU?!"

His eyes and face immediately flared. "_Me_?! What in Allah's name is the matter with _you_?! I try to talk to you and you run away, go into a violent spasm, and just now almost died because your chest suddenly ceased rising. It took nine jars of water to awaken you, girl! Nine jars!" finally he stopped yelling, now huffing instead. His patience is on edge.

I could not imagine the look of horrifying shock on my face.

We remained silent and paralyzed for a long time; gradually his breath and expression returned calm again. I continued starring at him, not believing his revelation about my situation. Suddenly my entire form shook with great tremors, and I hugged myself in a futile attempt to create warmth. Looking around I realized why I am shivering: I am soaking wet on top of the watered roof of my house during the nighttime!

The male assassin's eyes widened, but he could not stop my embrace as I clung to him, trying to get warm. Also, this is my revenge for getting completely soaked. He did not like that very much.

"What are you doing? Get off of me!" he began trying to pry me off. I do not know where this sudden strength emerged from, but I managed to cling to him till he finally decided to carry me into the entrance hallway. Much to his chagrin, I remained how I was: my arms linked around the base of his hood, my legs wrapped around his stomach, and the rest of my body desperately pressed against his now wet front. I even buried my head in his chest, not wanting to alarm him by blatantly viewing his face.

_Ew._ He smells like layers of days sweating.

"…You need to wear dry clothes or you will succumb to illness, and I am not changing you like an infant. Now get off!"

Understanding his point, I finally released him and touched the floor. I gripped my tunic and pulled it over my head.

The assassin observed my actions suspiciously. "What are you doing?"

I looked at him while gripping the base of my shirt. "Stripping, of course. I am not tracking water into my quarters!"

With a clear look of annoyance, he turned around and climbed out of my home to the rooftops. I suspected that he is a gentleman, but experience has taught me to never give my trust readily and to face the window. Surprisingly, it took more force than I realized to pull my clinging clothes from my wet skin, and I unceremoniously dropped my clothes, even my boots, onto the hallway floor.

Quickly I entered the living room, grabbing my black niqab and rubbing myself dry with it. I squeezed my hair as hard as I could due to habit, though I knew my hair would dry within three hours. Finished and after tossing the damp niqab back onto the long table, I entered my bedroom and lit the various candles.

I opened my dresser in the lonely corner and randomly choose a tunic but did not bother with a veil. The man has already seen my face on two occasions; I cannot regain my modesty, anyway.

Before getting dressed, I held and studied my sorry excuse for breasts, still hoping they would grow bigger within the last few years of my growth.

My shoulders lowered in gloom. Why do I care about my looks? By observing Rabeea, it seemed that having large breasts would be hazardous to free-running and fighting.

I sighed. I guess this is another woman-thing. I really wish Mother was here to explain these things to me.

Remembering that I have a… guest waiting outside, I quickly dressed then cursed upon remembering that my only pair of sandals is still in their hiding place… Oh well; it is not like I have never run around with bare feet before.

"You can come in now!" I called after reentering the main room.

Looking around I immediately noticed the throwing knives still attached to the walls and ceiling. Instinctively, my hand reached for my personal weapon, but all I grasped was its sheath.

In my peripheral vision the assassin entered through the archway, and I spotted my dagger hanging from his belt.

I stomped my foot. "Give me my weapon back!"

His eyebrow rose. "No. Not until we finish talking."

I glared at him. _What? Is he going to kill me with my own blade? Prick!_ Closing my eyes, I breathed in deeply to relax my nerves.

Once my eyes opened, I replied in begrudged agreement, "Shall we sit?" I moved to the little dining corner and positioned the two chairs appropriately. The assassin and I sat down, but we both were obviously not comfortable.

"You are an assassin for hire?" he started.

I blinked. "Yes. I already told you that." He made no comment.

"Who was that graying man you had such a touching conversation with?"

My eyes narrowed. "He is a good man. Leave him alone."

"That is not for me to decide," he quickly retorted. The reply was strange, but the tone of his voice warned me he is not convinced.

I sighed and explained, "He was my manager, but he retired today for the sake of his family. Please leave him alone." He has no idea how much saying that hurt.

A contemplating look befell the assassin. A few strained moments later, he finally continued, "Are you retired?"

"No," I answered too fast. I did not like the man's newfound glower. I scowled in defiance. "What?! I need to make a living too!"

"Not by dishonest means!"

This fucking hypocrite! My temper flared, causing me to abruptly rise. "And what exactly do you call what you do?!"

He slowly rose and walked around the small table to tower over me. My legs slowly turned clammy, wanting to back away from him, but I refused. The very least I can do is stand my ground until I really do need to run for my life. I am certain by now that the man realized that not only has he seen my face, I have seen his face. And that is an immense danger to any assassin.

Despite our height difference and close proximity, we managed to make terrifying eye contact.

He finally opened his mouth, "I killed that evil butcher to save the lives of future victims, without compensation. Killing one life for the sake of a thousand is what I live for. You would have only ended that vile man's life if he personally threatened you or someone you care for or if someone paid you enough to kill him."

Suddenly he leaned down to my level, and before I could step back, he gripped my small chin to pull me even closer. My eyes widened while my already racing heart increased; this is way too close!

"You are a _mercenary_. I am an _assassin_. That is the difference between what we do," he hissed lowly.

My fear slowly morphed into anger. Such a condescending expression; why hasn't this man killed me yet? What is the point of this conversation? Just today (or yesterday; I have no idea how long I was unconscious) he has attempted to murder me twice then all of a sudden wants to talk and he saves my life. What does he want?!

I stared into his eyes again, searching for the answer. His face screamed impatience, and his words had condemned my living sake. However, his body language read frustration. What does he want from me?

Dread dispersed my mind, and all I could do was shake my head. The assassin's eyes softened a little, and he asked what was wrong.

"No," was all I said as I continued shaking my head. His hand left my chin and moved to my shoulders, lightly shaking me.

"Kifah, calm down."

"You saved my life, asshole," I finally choked out. As expected he became angry and offended at my vulgar language. Before he could start yelling, I interrupted with a question I already knew the answer to. "What do you want from me?"

The assassin's body language completely changed, but he continued looking at me in the eyes.

"Live an honest life."

"No!" I shook my head again, stepping back, but his grip on my shoulders pulled me back.

"Why?" he demanded.

"No! AH!" I yelped from the sudden impact against the wall. My adrenaline began pumping.

"Why?!" he demanded more fervently, leaning closer.

"WHY IN ALLAH'S NAME DO YOU EVEN CARE?!" I finally yelled, starting to panic.

His controlled demeanor finally cracked. "I AM TRYING TO FIND A REASON TO NOT KILL YOU, STUPID GIRL, AND YOU ARE MAKING IT NIGHLY IMPOSSIBLE!"

Both our eyes widened at his open admission. Well, if my pride was not shit on beforehand, it definitely is now!

But I know better than anyone how far I am willing to go to stay alive… Fuck the "why"; I want to know the "how."

I gulped. "And what reason do you need?"

He snapped out of his rage and immediately clarified, "I am not permitted to kill an innocent."

I could not help but release a dark laugh. "An innocent? I am not evil, _assassin_, but I know I am not innocent." My sober gaze lowered to the floor and rested on the man's boots, though I am not really looking at them.

My entire body jerked, startled at the callused fingers gently lifting my chin up, and I met the assassin's gaze once more.

"Live an honest life. That is all I want from you."

I hesitated. "…I know I can stop killing," I partially told the truth. "But I honestly do not know if I can stop stealing… Never tried."

Much to my relief, he released my chin and stood up, giving me a little space.

"It is a start," he concluded. He looked around my house then addressed, "Is there a way for you to earn an honest living?"

"…I can sew and make clothing," I admitted, slightly embarrassed.

The assassin started laughing in good spirits, and my face completely flushed.

"How unexpectedly womanly of you!" he managed to state between laughs.

I huffed and placed my fists on my hips. "Are you satisfied?"

His serious attitude returned and overturned his good spirits. "For now. If you will excuse me, I have business to attend to." He turned and strolled towards the hallway.

"And how do you know I will maintain my debt?" I could not help taunting him a little.

The man stopped and glanced behind his shoulder. "I will visit you when I can to see how you are progressing, but believe me, little girl, I will know if you return to being a mercenary."

With superbly smooth motion he untied my dagger and threw it at me, and I caught it by the hilt in front of my face without batting an eye.

By the time my gaze returned to the archway, the assassin was gone.

**The Protector**

That was the last time I had seen him in nearly three months.

That day was also the last time I had entered the Rich District, seen the Al-Roze family, wore my free-running clothes, free-run, stole, and murdered someone. The loss was not bad at first, but the unplanned break of habitually dangerous living has left me very bored, frustrated, and somewhat unnerved.

After a month, I began unconsciously wasting my throwing knives during the night, and I was forced to hide away my weapons before sleeping to avoid more property damage. I still have trouble sleeping knowing I am unarmed. My blades and my very soul itch to fight again, but I cannot. All I can do is merely practice my techniques in secret and concentrate on making the most sellable cloths and clothes in the market.

A portion of three years of saved blood-money proved to stretch farther than I expected when used wisely. It took two weeks to establish a position in the Poor District's market for me to make a stand and sell my merchandise, going through the legal system and reasoning my case that as a complete orphan with no kin, it is my right to prove my worth thus earning my non-existent inheritance by working. It took another two weeks to grasp the charismatic ways of a salesperson, but I eventually seized enough attention to institute a flow of regular customers. I also chose to repair clothes for free if thread was supplied by the client.

Since discovering the existence of a different type of assassin, I kept an open ear to any peculiar activities within Jerusalem I have probably been overlooking for the last thirteen years. There is no doubt within my mind that that fake-scholar and the fake-disciple are part of a clan, most likely explaining where the assassin's radical ideals originate from. That man behaved so confidently, I suspected his clan has many numbers and enough people to spy on me regularly.

Although I have spent all of my time within the Poor District, a few weeks ago I caught another male fake-scholar spying on my stand before I opened it since I was running late that morning. However, that fake-scholar looked very different from the last one. He wore a full-bodied heavy white tunic with a matching headscarf that revealed only his eyes. I could not locate any weapons on him, not even the infamous hidden blade. Like the others, he wore a leather sling-pack that connected to a metal triangle which rested on his right breast. The red sash and leather work belt also held pouches around his waist, and though difficult to see, that fake-scholar wore leather boots and pants for free-running under the heavy tunic.

"Show me that turquoise dress."

My mind returned to the present, back to my market stand and the line of customers before me. I smiled warmly at the current customer even though my white niqab concealed it.

"Of course, sir." Handing the formal clothing to him, he examined it, and his expression increasingly showed how pleased he was with the dress. He happily paid for it, and I continued assisting the rest of the customers for the day.

Another five painfully tedious hours passed, and I finally closed my stand. Today's sales were rather exceptional; I only had to fold and place eight unwanted merchandises into my bag to bring home. Before departing, I ate at the same restaurant-stand on the outer limits of the market. To my chagrin the owner recognized me even in my white garb, and he always teases me for thinking I could fool him. I suppose being an old man he has no better source for entertainment.

Finally leaving the market, I walked west for two hours. Even now my mind remained observant for the assassin's spies though they mean no harm. It took a few weeks to overcome my habit of freezing then looking for the source of those intent gazes. Still, it is quite annoying since I have that feeling at least ten times per day!

As I climbed up the building to reach the rooftop entrance, agitation filled my mind again. I hate how quickly my physical endurance has deteriorated in such a short amount of time. My body has shown changes as well in adjusting to the sudden lack of physical activity. Well, I suppose one good thing I have received out of this is that my breasts grew a little.

My feet connected with the hallway floor, and I tumble-rolled forward to distribute the impact throughout my body. Jumping back onto my feet to stand, I took off my giant bag and niqab and set them on the long table.

Despite my change in occupation, how I spend my spare time remained the same: practice techniques, care for my weapons, work on my merchandise, count my money, and read. Attempting to cram all of these activities into one evening before nightfall every day proved to distract my thoughts away from the past.

Even during my breaks before, such thoughts and my memories would eventually resurface, forcing me to return to killing again.

Allah, I am far too young to be this nostalgic. Yet I suppose it is my own fault for fueling it by keeping Old-Man's books and reading them into oblivion. Most of my books are for prose and education, but his collection consists of historical accounts and poetry. Some are quite fascinating; some are boring; others are surreal and unorganized, and I cannot fathom those. I cannot understand the one before me, even though I am analyzing it for the sixteenth time.

Holding it next to the candle, I read it aloud once more, "'Eyes Closed Open / Hath Great Allah made the eye / And seeth what can be seen? / May distortion beeth your key. / May your black beeth white and your white beeth black. / Who but Allah knows what is seen is what is seen?' ...What the fuck did Old-Man see in this?"

Giving up, I set the collection of poems away onto the long table. The sun was gone. Lifting the candle, I walked to the bedroom and closed the door behind me to prepare for sleep.

Unfortunately, what I experience in my dreams is difficult to control. More often than not, I am forced to relive my past in my dreams… No, don't think about it!

All too soon, I was undressed and retired to bed. Collapsed on the pile of pillows with a blanket covering me, I hoped I would revisit happier times.

**The Protector**

"I see you have switched to wearing white. How symbolic."

This day began rather pleasant. For once I experienced no dreams or nightmares the previous night, and as a result I experienced the most resting sleep I have had in many years. My body was full of energy that morning, and my fingers had twitched in ungratified excitement as I equipped the leather straps around my slim torso and placed throwing knives in their holsters. I counted thirty dirhams into my money pouch and tied it to my belt. Like every morning, my right hand patted my sheathed short blade affectionately before I wore my white tunic, white niqab, and leather sandals.

Since I no longer risked leaking wounds from assassination missions, there was no reason to continue wearing black outfits in the blazing hot sun. However, I still return to wearing all black once a month.

After stuffing new cloths and clothes into my work bag, I walked to the market and opened my stand after eating breakfast. My neighboring sellers bid their greetings, and I returned them with feign affection. Throughout the late morning and early afternoon I used my excessive energy to charm and draw in more customers; I almost fooled myself with how cheerfully I seemed to handle my work.

In the late afternoon, the crowds started to dwindle earlier than usual, allowing me to relax and even repair recently received clothing. It was not until I finished the last one that I heard his voice.

Looking at the source, I blinked. He smirked.

_You fucker._

"Tell me, _lady_, when do you close?"

_I will happily close right now so I can make your face ugly._ Smiling, I answered, "In a few hours. Will you wait until then? It has been a long time; we must catch up!"

The secret assassin raised an amused eyebrow. "Certainly. In fact I will stand right here," he moved to the far side of my stand and leaned against the wall, "and wait."

I eyed him suspiciously, but if that is what he wants to do, so be it. I returned to my work, keeping his form in my peripheral vision.

The next few passing hours were unbearably long and strange with the assassin's presence so near. Several scattered customers came and went, but the man stood there like he said the entire time. Allah knows what he was thinking about, yet I realized he was listening intently to the people in the market. Evidently when he heard something worthy, he would glance at the sources till they finished their conversation, and for several minutes look at the ground in critical thought.

The verbal desires of the walking customers changed towards sustenance, alerting me of dinner time and time to close. I gathered and returned my merchandise into the giant bag and wore it across my torso. The bag itself rested below my left hip, and I pushed it back a little so it would stay out of my arm's way. Walking out of the now empty stand, I stood before the assassin and coughed to grab his attention.

He looked at me and stood straight, beckoning me to follow him. Quite eager for something not boring, I complied. We walked north across the Middle District's border, and the assassin suddenly ran atop of boxes and beams to jump onto a nearby roof.

Looking down, he called, "Come on! Or have you become fat?"

I gawked at him, more offended than I am willing to admit. His laughter at my silence caused me to scowl at him. Fueled by anticipating adrenaline, I sprinted towards the front of the building and climbed up it with ease, pulling myself onto the roof and standing before the assassin.

"You were saying?" I remarked defensively.

He continued smirking then nodded in approval. "Your killer instinct has weakened since then; you kept your word."

"And I have been bored beyond comparison since then," I sarcastically commented.

He suddenly burst into laughter. "You sound like Maria!"

I tilted my head in confusion. "'Mahr-ee-ah?'" That is definitely not an Arabic name.

He shook his head, dismissing whoever he mentioned. Suddenly, he became serious again. "You miss drawing blood that much?"

"Do you take me for a lusting brute? I miss _fighting_! I miss the danger; I have lived by it for years!"

"So, you are not a lusting brute. You are an ignorant brute," he failed to conceal the pity in his voice.

I gawked at him, "Y-you! Why didn't you just leave me to die in my sleep?! Instead you asked me to live a life I do not know how!"

"You need to learn to pursue and appreciate peaceful times in your life," he bit, his fury emerging.

"Times of peace amount to shit if you have no one to share them with," I bit back cynically.

He paused, all traces of anger leaving his face. Several seconds later I realized the extent of what I said. _Fuck!_

Very awkward moments passed with us starring at each other. I shifted uncomfortably; I guess I really am still a girl.

A flicker of glinting metal alerted my subconscious, causing my left hand to reach for a throwing knife and throw it towards the oncoming knife, countering its direction away from me. I realized what had just occurred and pointed at the assassin accusingly.

"WHAT WAS THAT FOR?!"

"Will you teach me?"

I blinked in disbelief at his request. "…What?"

"Will you teach me how to do that?" he nonchalantly asked as if he did not just waste a throwing knife.

I must have stared at him like he grew another head longer than I imagined because he suddenly threw another knife at me. Of course, I countered this one as well.

"STOP!"

"Are you willing to teach me or not?"

"NO!"

To my astonishment, he pouted briefly before rubbing his fuzzed chin, probably conjuring a way to force me to teach him. "Knives and the dagger are the only weapons you own. Is it because they are the only ones you know how to wield?"

I was about to retort that he is in the same situation, but at the last moment I noticed the sword hanging against his left leg. That was not present last time.

Finally, I turned my attention to his hooded face. "Your point?"

He unsheathed his sword, swinging it around a little before pointing the tip at me. "If you teach me how to counter projectiles, I will teach you swordplay."

I studied the sword for a moment. It looks rather new, but it is a long blade. Though I have fought against swords, I have never even held one. The techniques for it are drastically different than a short blade.

Looking up to the assassin, I wondered, "How will this benefit me exactly?"

He smirked again. "If you do not have your dagger or knives the next time you are ambushed, and you cannot run, how are you going to defend yourself? By using your fists?" He waited a few moments for a reply.

When he did not get one, he continued after flipping the sword so its hilt pointed towards me, "It is wise to have knowledge and experience with various weapons. You know this. Besides, did not you say you miss fighting?"

Understanding his points, I partially smirked myself and sighed. "Well… why not, assassin?"

I accepted the sword.

* * *

**sesshomaruisfluffypuppy:** _Thank you so much for your reviews addressing all of the chapters!... which I'm going to respond to each of them here:_

_1) Who is to say the assassin is Malik or Altair? (O.O) Of course, the fact I have not revealed the exact year this is taking place does not help… I'll have to remember to reveal that at some point as well! Also, I'm not making it definite, but I think Kifah will meet Malik in Ch.6-9…somewhere in there._

_2) Ever watched Sweeney Todd? The idea of producing and selling human meat, especially during time periods and locations where FRESH meat is rare and doesn't last long, to people who can afford fresh meat on a daily basis (i.e. rich people) is quite cunning if you know what you're doing._

_3) He is perceptive and stubborn._


	5. Lessons' Tests

**Shawarma is a Levantine Arab dish composed of various cooked meats with a wide variety of vegetables wrapped in bread.**

**Labaneh is a very ancient dish composed of strained yogurt-cheese.**

* * *

"Extend your hand! No, not that far! You are holding a sword, not a snake!"

My new _teacher_ came at me again, and I instinctively increased my grip on the handle but failed to tilt the sword as he had instructed. The powerful blow hit my sword and was followed by another, causing me to lose my balance and fall on my ass for the ninth time. How humiliating!

The difference in power and strength between men and women never really antagonized or discouraged me. Certainly, I encountered conflicts but always found ways to circumvent them; hiding, running, disguising as a man, and killing the conflict's source are my initial courses of action. Rarely did I face conflicts head on, unless murder was involved.

But this assassin-_FUCK HIM!_-disrupted all of my courses of action, and I am not skilled enough to kill him. Hopefully swordsmanship will increase my chances… if I ever reach past the basics.

I could not hold back my frustration any longer.

"FUCK!"

"What did I say about cursing around me?! And you are dead… again."

"_Sorry_. And thank you for the enlightenment," I sarcastically commented and got back on my feet.

Bringing my attention back to the assassin, I immediately recognized his deep thinking stare. Because of his hood obscuring his eyes, the stare is difficult to notice, but I have seen it up close before. Even though I cannot read him during that stare, it still makes my skin crawl. Only Allah knows what is going through his head.

Fairly certain that at least five minutes passed with us standing still on the secluded rooftop, I forcefully asked, "What in Allah's name could you possibly be thinking about for five minutes?!"

"You are on your menstruation," he concluded after snapping his fingers.

_I am going to kill him. NO! That is too merciful. First, I am going to beat him until he vomits out his own entrails, use them to choke him, and then murder him with his special blade right before he loses consciousness!_

Describing my mental state as baffled and embarrassed would have been an understatement.

"H…_how _did you come to this conclusion?"

He immediately answered, "Your balance is off, you have emotionally lashed out more often than usual, and you resumed wearing black on a daily basis five days ago."

Resisting the urge to slap him, I reasoned my actions, "I started regularly wearing my free-running clothes and black niqab when you began training me, idiot! They just happen to be black!"

"And how do you explain my two first points?" he crossed his arms with a smug expression.

My eye twitched. One of the qualities of my heart that I was actually proud of worked against me. Seriously, why can I not flat out LIE? Even now my mind conjured believable lies for my observed behavior, but I could not force myself to speak them. So instead, I decided to cover the truth with another truth.

"Simple: NONE OF YOUR BUSINESS!"

I could not see it, but I had the feeling the assassin actually rolled his eyes.

"Kifah, it is very important you learn this technique for the sword. Whether you like it or not, you are a woman; you are weaker than grown men, and you are not strong enough to even block multiple attacks from a single opponent. Though, I'm sure you figured that out a long time ago considering your… undisciplined style."

For some bizarre reason though I was not insulted, I winced, and he continued his lecture.

"You use throwing knives and short blades, weapons that exaggerate speed, mobility, and a continuous streak of attacks and counter attacks. This allows you to not give your opponents time to attack you, assuming they do not know how to fight against such weapons. Because of this you learned to fight very aggressively, and unless you can control your aggression, it will get you killed."

My eyes narrowed at his speculation and sudden revelation. "Wait just a moment-"

He interrupted, growing impatience evident in his voice, "Miraculously you have not been killed yet because of your weapons of choice and the fact that you have not been forced to stand your ground against men who know how to handle a short blade wielder… until recently," he discreetly referred to himself. "However, you cannot be so physically aggressive with a sword considering your lack of strength and experience with it. That is why you must learn this move; it will compensate for your poor ability to block and allow you to counter attack."

He spread his legs while raising his sword, indicating we are going to attempt the lesson again.

Angry and frustrated air exhaled through my nostrils. Only Old-Man has openly described my weaknesses and criticized them! No one else, much less a nameless stranger who knows _nothing_ about me, yet this fucking assassin and his accusations… are completely correct.

Mentally cursing to high Heaven and low Hell, I mimicked the assassin's appropriate stance while calming my breath. In any standard situation, my eyes would be focused on my opponent's eyes with their weapon in sight. However, seeing his eyes was proving difficult because of his hood and the light of the moon facing his backside.

In my distracted moment the man rushed at me with his raised sword. Caught off guard, I braced myself instinctively, gripping my weapon's hilt with both of my hands this time while placing my left foot farther back for support. Sharp grunts escaping my grinding teeth showed the level of my struggle against the other's sword, which is still gripped by only his right hand.

Refusing to be grounded again, my entire body leaned forward slowly, barely at first then gradually, moving the opposing sword backwards. Now his sword is half of a foot away from his chest, as became mine when he started pushing back. As time passed he added more strength behind his push, so it is only a matter of time before I fall on my ass again if I do not do something!

Remembering the technique he was trying to teach me, I wondered if I could use it here. That is the point of this entire night of failed attempts, to correctly do the move, though it unintentionally became a power struggle. Even if I fail again, the worst thing that can happen is my butt and pride receiving further damage.

After mental preparation, I hastily stepped back to put space between us, and when the assassin placed his other hand on the hilt for more force, I barely tilted my sword sideways while moving it to the left. To my excitement, my sword's new angle caused easy manipulation of my opponent's sword, and they were pushed to my left, their tips pointing towards the stars.

It is very tempting to take this technique a step further and counter attack by back fisting the assassin with my right hand, but I decided against it.

With a pleased expression the assassin brought back his arms, gave me some space, and sheathed his sword. I sheathed mine as well. I could not subdue the proud smile conquering my face, though it was not necessary since the black cloth hid it, but I had a feeling he would know if I was smiling.

"Congratulations, Kifah. You finally learned how to deflect attacks. Now you can perform counter attacks with the sword. Of course, once you finally adjust to the long blade's length and weight, you can learn how to dodge then counter attack with swords."

Immediately after he finished giving approbation, simultaneous and loud rumbles filled the air.

I could feel how big my eyes became along with the flush spreading across my cheeks. Thank Allah for this mask! The assassin did not react as extremely as I did, merely having a somewhat surprised look on his face before looking between our stomachs.

For once I decided to end the awkward silence. "I'm fucking hungry." He nodded in agreement before reprimanding my vulgar speech again.

"Yeah, yeah…" I verbally shrugged him off.

Ironically, I was not raised by vulgar parents. As far as I can remember…I do not remember Father cursing. Mother never cursed no matter how horrible her situation became. Even Old-Man did not curse around me, though I overheard him cussing in private occasionally. No, my guardians did not lead me to curse. It was the fucking city guards.

Suddenly my peripheral vision registered a non-threatening projectile thrown towards me, and I effortlessly caught it despite my fatigued arms. The smell emitting from it reached my nose first before I realized it was food wrapped in thick paper. Rather surprised at the unexpected kindness, I returned my gaze to the assassin, who had already sat down, unraveled his meal, and began eating. I looked back at my very late dinner and quickly unwrapped it while taking a seat on the cold roof and pulling back my veil. The food is shawarma! Already salivating, I hastily began eating.

It did not take long for the food to be consumed, and we just sat on the rooftop, cooling down. I was gazing up at the stars in admiration; this is a rare occurrence for me to do. Quickly stealing a glance at the assassin, who was staring at the ground with that critical thinking stare again, I promptly said "thanks" and returned to admiring the bright specks of light.

"Your welcome," his immediate response startled me.

Turning back to him, I could identify that smirk despite the shadow caused by the hood. Feeling another blush emerging, I hastily and rather childishly pulled my mask over my face to hide it, but a stretched arm reached out, its hand gripping the bottom of the sweaty cloth, gently pulling it back up. The assassin had scooted closer towards me, allowing his arm to pull the veil over my head and rest it against my neck.

Aggravation quickly replaced my embarrassment. Just when I finally became comfortable around him, he had to go and ruin it! Just what is he doing?

"Why is your hair so short?" He inquired and tugged at it like a curious child.

I voiced the discomforting action and slapped his hand away. Thankfully, he complied to retreat his hand. My fingers ran through the side of my hair as if to comfort it, but it was really so I could erase the feeling the assassin left behind.

My hair is not only a sensitive subject; it, or rather the scalp it connects to, is sensitive to touch. I should have realized that from all the times Mother soothed me, but children do not ponder on such things. It was not until_ that _guard tried to be comforting by petting me did I understand the sensitivity of my head. Unfortunately, the guard's attempt did not work very well. It is difficult to comfort the same person you are hurting…

_An abrupt gasp escaped me from the pain. _GET HIM OFF! _My body continued screaming at me, but I ignored it. Focusing on the robe beneath me, I calmed and evened my breath as best as I could, but my heart and body refused to relax._

_My focus was broken from a sudden rock. That hurt! _

_I forcefully cut my scream short, not wanting to displease the guard, or maybe he does not mind my voice; I have no idea- _

_"Ah!"_

_Tears began forming, and my teeth started aching from the pressure of them grinding. Opening my mouth, my breathing nearly became hyperventilating. Groaning, I finally gripped the top of the robe and bunched it up well before biting onto it. My next scream was slightly muffled, and the tears finally ran down my face as the rocking became more frequent._

_What felt like an eternity passed as my consciousness regressed; by that point I was not aware of my surroundings, but I could still feel the pain. I knew what was happening, but my mind was null. _

_An unexpected gentle action broke my regression, bringing me back to reality. The guard at some point had become still and stroked my hair. Evidently I was lightly sobbing, and he kept stroking my hair until I eventually calmed down. Astonishingly, my tears dried up, and I rubbed the remnants off of my face. The guard took that as a sign he could continue his business, and he gave one last stroke through my hair._

_I unwillingly shivered at the action. _I feel sick…

My eyes forcibly blinked, finally breaking away from the memory, and I mentally pushed it back in disgust. Why does this keep happening?! I have hidden away the memories of that year for the past six years; why are they breaking out?!

I unintentionally growled my frustration out loud, and the assassin reacted with a puzzled look. Realizing this, I stopped and decided to answer his question as a distraction.

"My hair was actually very long before I decided to cut it. The weight of it was giving me headaches, and it was easier for my pursuers to grab onto. So, I cut it," I explained hastily.

More memories involving my hair threatened to surface, but on guard this time, I kept them subdued.

The assassin must have a controlled curiosity because my hair is not that short to provoke such a question. It reaches past my shoulders, currently.

Speaking of curiosity, I imagine he has the same hair color as mine since we are both Arabs. Still, I have not actually seen his head due to that hood. I do not need to, but I am still young and curious.

The man made no comment, but he seemed content with my answer. When he stood up, I followed.

"I will come to your house again tomorrow," he bid farewell and jumped off of the building.

I strolled to the other side of the rooftop. After putting my mask back on, I leaped onto another building and free-ran towards home.

**The Protector**

Three freezing months have passed since I accepted training from the assassin. His kind food gesture triggered a developed tradition where we took turns every day in supplying late night meals after training. It did not take long for him to notice my love for shawarma, and as if in righteous justice, I soon after discovered his love for labaneh. HA! Who would have imagined this dangerous man's favorite food is yogurt?

Soon our positions would be switched; I will be teaching him how to counter throwing knives the next time he returns to Jerusalem.

The day of his sudden departure was very unique. It snowed, and a renowned physician was murdered in his own clinic, causing the entire city and its guards to be on high alert. It took days for the tension to dissipate, but murders actually occur occasionally. The guards just do not pay attention to the petty ones. Though a few weeks have passed since the notorious event, they are still itching to arrest anyone who behaves suspiciously.

When the assassin visited my market stand to inform me of his leave, it was not necessary to ask if he was the one who assassinated the physician. I could smell the washed blood on his hands and gloves despite the cold.

The sharp, high pitched cry of a woman brought my attention to the entrance of the market place. Another innocent victim of the corrupted guards, arresting her for some inane reason to do only God knows what to the poor woman. Sighing as similar memories threatened to surface _again_, I tried distracting myself by repairing some winter clothes. This is really pissing me off.

Many events occur in people's lives that shape who they become, who they are. Unfortunately, people affect the course of others' lives as well, if not more drastically than events. I am no exception. My body and mind changed during my adolescent years, of course. But no year has affected me more drastically than 1205.

My hands paused in their work, breaking the train of thought. I narrowed my eyes in aggravation. I thought I had come to terms with the events that occurred during that year, but apparently not.

Ever since the assassin blackmailed me, my thoughts have increasingly roamed deeper and deeper within my conscious. Why this is occurring, I do not know. Each time I attempt to understand this, the more detailed I experience my dark memories and head wracking pain. I hate that feeling!

An even higher pitched scream snapped me out of my musings. Looking back at the entrance, I saw the guards now pushing the woman around, playing with her while the captain and another guard shielded their fun. I frowned. This disturbance is driving away all of the customers. Observing the hallway, I noticed how my neighbors were closing their stands to escape the abusive sight. Groaning, I followed their actions.

Once the stand was completely closed, I slung my work bag onto my right shoulder, and it ached at the increased weight. Since the stand was closed about four hours early, there are more clothes than ever stuffed inside the bag, and some of the clothes are heavier because they are winter clothes while the rest are spring clothes.

I strolled towards the nearest exit, which is disturbingly close to the group of corrupt guards. Customers and salesmen were hastily making their way past them, not even looking in their general direction. Since the far side of the archway is packed, I was forced to walk on the side closer to the guards to exit faster.

Evidently, I came too close to the group because the captain suddenly pushed me away. Caught off guard, I bumped into one of the stand-owners carrying a wooden box, causing him to drop it.

_Oh, fuck._

The man's face contorted in anger, yelling at me for ruining his merchandise. I tried to voice apologies and even offered to pay for the damage, but it only resulted in the man pushing me. Unfortunately, my back hit one of the guard's chests, and I felt gloved hands gripping my arms way harder than necessary.

"You're under arrest!"

My head spun around to look at the guard. "For what?!"

His eyes narrowed. "For disrupting the peace!"

I could not hold back my tongue, "What?! That's horseshit, and you know it!"

The captain became even angrier and threw me to the woman they were already bullying. As I collided with her and we fell to the ground, I saw my bag land and tumble away from me and the clothes scatter on the road. On-looking civilians glanced at our humiliated state with pity and fear.

Murderous desire on top of fury quickly crowded my mind. I forgot my debt to the assassin; I forgot I was wearing a white niqab, white dress, and plain sandals; I forgot I was trying to be incognito; I forgot the pain and insecurity after dwelling in my memories.

Quickly recovering from the initial shock, I noticed I am hovering over the poor woman on the ground. She looks completely terrified and physically in pain. Her left arm is cradling her right, and I got off of her and stood up to face the guards. The three underlings who were playing with the woman voiced their desire to their captain to take us to the prison already. The captain was compliant, and the other guards moved to apprehend me first.

The captain studied my face quizzically, and I know why: I have no expression on my face.

When the underling guards came within two feet, my hands gracefully slid into the sides of my tunic and gripped a throwing knife between each finger. They became still upon my actions and demanded to know what I am doing. Not bothering to waste my breath, I slid three knives in each hand into the open and swung my left hand. The three throwing knives successfully hit each target in the center face or forehead, causing the dead men to fall.

The captain and last underling immediately drew their swords and set claims to my life, but I am not paying attention to them.

After six fretful months of retirement, I saw in such clarity I thought I had forgotten how the guards met their demise. The movements of my body are not as smooth as before, but the reaction speed remained up to standard. The guards' blood pooled around their wounds, only touching the ground when they fell, and because the underlings were standing still when the knives met, they merely lost feeling in their legs and fell forward with surprised expressions.

But the best part, the part I did not realize I missed the most is the after effect. I feel nothing, absolutely nothing. _Null..._

My relief was interrupted by the warning howl of the guard raising his sword. I blinked in mild puzzlement as he took an eternity running towards me. He is ridiculously slow compared to the assassin.

As the guard brought his weapon above and around his head with both hands, I jumped backwards, dodging his swing while equipping my faithful dagger in my free hand. When he completed the powerful movement, he had to pause so his body could recover for two seconds, and I took advantage of the guard's carelessness. Switching the dagger to hold it backwards, I leaped at his vulnerable side and effortlessly stabbed down the right side of his neck. As I violently pulled my dagger out, blood sprayed from the severed vein and landed around my eyes and atop my niqab.

The civilians passing by became frantic at the gruesome scene, running away and calling for nearby guards.

_Damn it!_

The remaining captain snapped out of his shock, cursing me. Then he swiftly swung at me, causing me to jump to the side to dodge his onslaught. I hastily raised my right hand, preparing to throw the knives for when I saw a clean shot. Suddenly, the captain changed his strategy and thrust his sword forward. My legs sprang backwards, but I felt the tip of the weapon dig into my left collar bone before I got away. Still in the air, I hastily threw three throwing knives at the captain. One hit his lamellar armor, the second hit the helmet protecting his forehead, and the third knife buried into his throat, and I landed on my feet.

Bleeding profusely and coughing up blood, the captain dropped his sword to grasp his throat in vain, and he fell alongside his men and quickly bled to death.

The distinctive sound of heavy footsteps alerted my attention, and I twisted my head to the right. Patrol guards are running towards the scene at a rather alarming rate with an alarming number of them!

I quickly cleaned my dagger on my tunic before hiding it away, and I sprinted to the left down the road.

Any guards I passed by realized I am being chased and joined with the others, but I continued running ahead of them. Free-running is a risky option in my current wear, but those guards cannot keep up forever!

Looking around while barely dodging people in the street, I continued running and entered black-clothed thug territory. Due to my previous careers, I was forced to become very familiar with the layout of this city; it made escaping and free-running safer and easier. However, it is more difficult on the ground with the crowds in the way!

A line of women balancing jars on their head stretched across further down the road, blocking it. Glancing behind me, I realized there were at least ten guards that had gathered in the chase! I yelled my apologies to the women before pushing through them, knocking them over, and I continued fleeing.

Reaching deeper into the thugs' territory, more back alleyways became evident. Hoping I would find some stacked boxes that would make reaching the roof feasible, I came to a sliding halt before an entrance and dashed through it. I could hear the strained complaints of the guards as they were forced to pursue me in twos because of the narrow alleyway.

The path turned to the right, which I followed, and upon turning the corner I spotted a complication I do not need. My hands immediately rose, bracing my body as I reached the cement wall and stopped before it. Feeling then punching it in frustration, I realized it was a recent addition, and there is no way for me to escape unless I can miraculously climb up the tall bare walls in cheap sandals!

_...Fuck!_

Hearing the pursuing feet come to a halt in two's and drawing their swords, I turned around to face the little army of guards, all possessing faces of triumph while catching their breaths. Reacting surprisingly immature, I huffed at being trapped and crossed my arms. A sudden idea came to mind, so I tilted my head in an arrogant manor while discreetly reaching within my garb.

I addressed the guards, "I suppose you honorable men will not let me go if I give each of you a dinar?"

Their eyes widened at the proposition, slightly lowering their weapons. The three leading captains burst out laughing, the youngest one even clutching his stomach.

"I have a better idea: how about you give us _all_ of your money and we won't hurt you too much, little whore?" one of them proposed cruelly.

To my amazement, some of the lower ranked guards looked at the captain in disgust; it is a rare occurrence, but there are guards who have yet to be corrupted. Perhaps I will spare them death.

_That captain, however..._

Each hand equipped two throwing knives, my last ones.

_...is going to pay for the insult._

I clicked my tongue in disappointment. "Hmm. How about this: I keep all of my rightful money and you either leave right now with your lives or die where you stand?"

This time all of the guards bellowed in ignorant laughter.

The captain who called me a whore spoke with his irritating, horrible voice again, "Are you delusional, woman, or wha-"

The first knife entered his open mouth and pierced the back of his throat, reaching the brain in an instant kill. Before the others could react to the man's sudden collapse, I threw my last three knives towards the remaining captains.

Unfortunately, their armor was better upgraded than I thought, and my knives failed to completely pierce through the layered scales. Cursing, I equipped my dagger in a backwards grip given the large number of guards. It has been too long since my blade has been covered in blood.

The two captains came at me first at the same time. I jumped back to avoid their swings, and the shorter of the two suddenly lunged at me. Refusing to lose more space between them and the wall, I stood my ground before stepping to the side at the last moment. As the sword completed its swing and pointed to the ground, my dagger buried into the edge of the captain's neck and pulled across, slashing it open. Blood spewed, creating a mist, but I ignored it and brought my attention to the remaining high ranked guard.

At this point a regular guard pushed to the front, replacing his captain. To my astonishment, the remaining captain backed away and pushed another soldier to take his place. What a coward!

The two new victims were understandably hesitant, but one of them eventually attacked me. Before he could bring up his sword, I ran towards him and front kicked the center of his chest. The force pushed him back, knocking him and the guards behind him over.

The second guard became distracted by my feat. Taking this opportunity, I swung my left arm to the side while twisting my body, quickly slashing his neck. The blood spatter reached my face, and I instinctively wiped it away from my eyes.

"Crazy bitch!" a more brave guard yelled and charged at me.

I prepared for a counter attack, but then I noticed two other guards attack me as well. My eyes widened at the unexpected teamwork. The first swing was easily dodged with a side step, but my move was anticipated. Sharp pain erupted from my right shoulder and forearm; they both actually managed to cut me!

I screamed briefly but quickly recovered to stab the closest guard in the eye. I violently brought back my dagger for the sake of speed and spun to the left while ducking low to kick the other guard's legs out from under him. He yelled in surprise, landing on his back. The shadow of an oncoming sword alerted me to roll over, dodging it before it struck the ground. Coming to a halt and crouching, I noticed the tripped guard had dropped his sword next to him. I grabbed it and stabbed him in the stomach, gripping the hilt and pulling myself up to stand before taking the sword out of him.

Flipping the sword to an appropriate hold, I wielded it in my right hand while my dagger remained in my left. Another swing came, and I tilted the stolen sword as they made contact, deflecting the enemy swing. Before he could bring his sword back, I twirled my dagger so I could grip it forward then slashed his throat. While he died, I twirled my short weapon again, reverting to a backward grip.

The guards starred at me, bewildered that I managed to kill while holding two different blades simultaneously.

This… is new, and I really have no idea what I am doing!

After a several seconds of hesitation, the captain yelled at his men, "What are you waiting for?! Kill her!"

The underlings remained hesitant, taking small fidgety steps but not moving forward. Finally losing patience, the last captain scowled and marched to the front line with his broadsword drawn.

If he could actually see my eyebrows, I would raise one to taunt him, but there is no way I am taking off my veil. Now that I think about it, I am still trapped in this alleyway, my right arm is wounded, and those corpses are still bleeding out. Blood is very slippery.

Accessing the situation again, I tried a bluff, "Last chance, boys. Leave right now or die like the others."

The captain scoffed, "You are just a lucky cunt!"

A nerve I did not even know I had within my head clenched painfully, and I starred ominously at the captain.

Moments of silent tension passed before a wicked smirk formed behind my niqab. In a fast motion I pointed my long weapon to the captain, startling the underlings behind him.

"If you or your men have not come to peace with Allah, you better do so right now."

Before he could retort, I threw my short blade at his throat. Amazingly, he leaned away in time for the weapon to only nick the edge of his neck, but it continued forward and buried into a guard's forehead.

Yelling a short battle cry, the captain charged and swung powerfully. It required more power than the others to deflect this one, catching me off guard. Before I could think of a counter attack, he stepped forward, using his arms and body to push me back. My eyes widened while I stumbled backwards to keep from falling, but I remained standing and tried pushing forward once I regained my footing. Feeling this, the captain lunged at me with ridiculous strength. I yelped as my back hit the cement wall, and there is an angry captain pinning me to it. A fresh surge of adrenaline pumped rapidly through my body as my loud heartbeat rang in my ears.

_GET HIM OFF!_

Panic rising, my legs moved on their own and kneed the man's crotch. Though he gasped painfully and I could feel his strength slacken, he did not back off. Damn his armor!

Scowling, I leaned forward and slammed my head upward, head-butting his chin. The captain yowled and finally stumbled back to create some distance.

I freed my left hand to hold the top of my now aching head. That was not one of my brightest moves! Ow…

By the time my head cleared, the captain had recovered enough and was screaming profanities.

My eyes widened at the realization that I missed the opportune moment to kill him, and now he and his bruised balls have their furry completely directed at me.

The shuffling of the average guards behind him brought my attention; they are slowly stepping forward! Narrowing my eyes, I switched the sword to my left hand and went into the sword stance the assassin taught me with my left side leading. I breathed.

An underling guard ran first and swung at me. I quickly side stepped to the left and slashed the back of his neck, partially cutting his head off. I turned around to deflect an oncoming swing, and I countered it by punching the guard's throat. While he was stunned, I thrust my sword through the junction between his chest and stomach, allowing the weapon to emerge through his back. I pulled the sword back while kicking the dead guard's body off before facing the remaining opponents.

"Oh, God! She's one of _them_!" one of the four remaining guards suddenly yelled in terror.

I pondered out loud, "'Them?'"

The guard who voiced his accusation suddenly sheathed his sword and ran away, screaming that he is too young to die. I blinked in confusion.

The three guards glanced behind to watch their fleeing comrade.

The captain hastily decreed, "The next man who follows that coward's example will be personally executed by me!"

That set the soldiers' minds to remain and kill me.

Turning his attention back to me, the captain addressed, "Whether you are one of those Masyaf dogs or not, I am going to enjoy killing you!"

"'Masyaf'- What are you even talking about?"

He ignored my confusion and came at me, his men not far behind. I jumped to the side to dodge his attack then quickly slashed through another guard's neck. The resulting long blood spray momentarily blinded me, and I instinctively jumped back with my sword up to block any attacks. I wiped the blood off of my eyes.

The last two underlings along with the captain attacked me from different sides. Running out of space to dodge, I ducked into a low crouch. Seeing their legs around me, I slashed the pair in front of me, cutting the unfortunate guard down.

I quickly added my right hand to my sword's hilt and brought the sword above my head to block the two coming down.

"Gah!" I cried out from the impact.

I can block an attack from one man, but the combined strength of these two almost made my arms collapse. My right arm began shaking as I struggled to keep the swords at bay.

A boot hit my back, kicking me forward. I braced against the bloodied ground on my hands and knees, unintentionally letting go of my weapon. I mentally cursed from being forced into such a vulnerable position; I have to think fast, now!

The glint of a familiar object caught my right peripheral vision. I smiled upon spotting my old friend. Crouching again, I leapt to the right, dodging the remaining guards' oncoming strike. I grabbed my dagger's hilt and pulled it from the corpse's head. My balance was harder to maintain on the blood covered ground, so I stayed crouched while throwing my dagger.

The underling gaped for the last time before falling dead with my short blade buried in his forehead.

The captain stared in complete disbelief, looking at all the corpses surrounding us. He is the only guard left standing.

The loud moans of the guard whose legs I almost completely cut through reminded us he is still alive. Looting a nearby sword, I stood and promptly stabbed him in the head to give him a quick end. I had to use both hands to pull the long blade free. My body is approaching exhaustion.

The last man glowered darkly, preparing for a powerful attack. Inwardly groaning, I considered running but immediately dismissed it. If I run, this asshole will just chase after me _again_ and yell for more guards to chase me _again_.

I spread my legs and bent my knees. My left hand gripped under my right in holding the sword above my right leading foot. My chest heaved, trying to fulfill my body's need for more air.

Finally, the captain stepped forward, progressively swinging violent but fast strokes. Miraculously I managed to deflect them, but I did not get any chances to counter attack. He took another step forward, not slowing down his barrage. Starting to lose balance, I was forced to take a step back. The moment my right foot touched the ground, the captain suddenly lunged into my personal space and slammed the forehead plate of his helmet against my forehead.

The entire world flashed yellow and green. Everything looks bizarre; I can see the world spinning. What the fuck?

I felt my back and the crown of my head hit the ground, causing flashes between white and black. Why is the world spinning? That is not possible. Am I spinning? Why am I spinning? I tried moving my head, but it triggered agonizing pain, strangely also in my neck.

A hand gripped the front of my tunic, pulling my upper body. The forced movement caused more agony. Whoever is jerking me around is going to be sodomized by my dagger!

Thankfully, despite limping while sitting up, the hand allowed me to be still and recover. Slowly the white, black, green, and yellow moving spaces stilled and morphed into other colors. The angry face of a guard greeted my recovered vision. What an ugly sight… Oh, now I remember why he is here.

The captain waved his free hand before my eyes, and my eyes followed them. Upon seeing I recovered, he released me and stomped his boot onto my stomach.

"AH!" I arched forward, fully alert and now seeing red. "GO FUCK YOUR SISTER!"

I screamed again as he dug further into my stomach.

"I am _finally_ going to silence your mouth!" he drew his sword.

Sensing death, I instinctively looked around for a weapon, but none are within my reach except for the broadsword the captain is wielding. Becoming desperate, I grabbed his ankle with both hands to push it away, but my arms are so tired and shuddering with spasms, I could not even lift his foot.

Ignoring my feeble attempt, the long blade rose, and with a triumph grunt he brought it down. A cynical, dark grin formed, my farewell "fuck you" to the world.

The heavy weight upon me disappeared, and my eyes opened wider than ever before at the white blur that pushed the captain off of me. My mouth opened as my mind tried to search for a name that I do not know to address the man who saved me for a second time.

Unable to find the unknown name, I stupidly sputtered, "Y-you!"

The assassin had the captain pinned against the wall, his right hand twisting and holding the captain's arm behind his back while the assassin's left forearm grinded the guard's neck against the bricks.

He glanced back to look at me.

"Me," he confirmed.

The captain seethed, infuriated yet terrified for his life. "I-I did not know she was one of you! Forgive me!"

I could not see the assassin's face anymore, but I noticed the slight tilt of his head.

"I wish," he commented then brought his left hand away.

Before the captain could do anything, the assassin flicked his wrist, summoning a clean hidden blade and upwardly stabbed behind his victim's jaw line. The guard's knees buckled, and the assassin released his grip on the man and retracted his special weapon. He stepped back, avoiding the corpse's falling body and strolled over to where I am.

By now I managed to sit up against the nearest wall, trying to regain my strength. The assassin kneeled before me, inspecting my person. I ignored him and stared at the men I managed to defeat. I will never admit it, but I am relieved and pleased with his return. However, he came back much earlier than expected, but I should not complain. He saved my life… again.

_...Fuck!_

I closed my eyes as my niqab was carefully pulled off of my head. The assassin gave the blood spattered veil a moment's consideration before tossing it away. Much of my unkempt hair is clinging to my neck and face with sweat. I pushed it back, grimacing in disgust. I need a long, damn, fucking, amazing, hot, fucking bath!

"May I look at your arm?"

Glancing at the bleeding cuts, I looked at him skeptically. "Why?"

He frowned. "So I can access the damage."

"It was not _that_ long ago I worked as a mercenary. Many times I was wounded and had to treat myself," I partially told the truth.

To my surprise, the assassin chuckled softly. "Stubborn as a mule," he murmured and thankfully did not touch me.

We sat here for several minutes, the assassin waiting patiently for me to recover.

Despite the cool air, the blazing afternoon sun caused the corpses to begin rotting, and that pushed me to leave at last.

Keeping silent, I pushed myself to stand, keeping a hand on the wall to maintain balance. He stood alongside me, still waiting patiently. Looking down at my attire, I realized there is no way I can walk back home without suffering suspicion from the guards. When I had rolled on the ground, the spilled blood of the guards covered it and got onto my clothes, creating a strange blood pattern on my dress. The area around my eyes is probably still blood stained. My sandals are also covered in blood, and painful red burns mark the skin of my feet where the straps dug into when I was sprinting across the district.

I don't think I am going to work tomorrow.

But first things first, I need to retrieve my prized dagger. I spotted the guard's head that contained it and walked, carefully avoiding the pools of blood. Grabbing the hilt with both hands, I yanked it free. Sighing, I returned to where the assassin is and cleaned the dagger's blade on my robe before slipping it inside and into its sheath.

"When did you arrive?" I wondered.

The assassin was sincerely surprised at my question, but he answered nonetheless, "About three hours ago. How long were you fighting?"

I paused, wondering this myself. "I don't know…"

My attention went to the edge of the roof. That would be the most difficult part, along with jumping from building to building with my injured feet in worn down sandals. No doubt after this ordeal I need to buy a new pair.

Also, I can feel a large bruise from the captain's boot forming. It hurts almost as bad as my aching head!

The assassin figured out my intentions and ran up the side of the tall wall, reaching the edge and effortlessly pulling himself up. He kneeled, peering over while holding out a hand. I ran up the wall after him, barely reaching his hand. The assassin pulled me up so my free hand could grab the edge, and he continued helping me onto the roof. I tiredly thanked him while straightening to stand.

Looking around to figure out where we are, I noticed the assassin began running ahead of me.

"Hey, wait!" I called and went after him.

Of course, he leapt onto a different building. Thankfully, the distance is short, so I jumped it and continued free-running after him. It took a few minutes to realize he was showing me a path to my home that, though ridiculously long, is easier to free-run for my condition.

Thirty minutes passed, and we finally spotted the roof entrance of my house. The assassin reached it before me, and he leaped inside once I caught up. Looking down, he beckoned for me to jump; he plans on catching me. Sighing, I gave in knowing there is no reason not to trust his abilities.

As I gripped his broad shoulders when I reached him, his hands gripped the sides under my armpits, effectively slowing my fall so my feet met the ground without further damage.

I muttered, slightly embarrassed, "Thank you."

Once I let go of his shoulders, he released me and followed me into the living room. I have not been caught like that since I was a very little girl.

I collapsed on a dining chair, releasing a long breath. This is why Old-Man taught me how to free-run and why I further trained those skills, to avoid those dangerous kinds of fights. Thinking of Old-Man, I released a sad laugh. I could not help but wonder if he was not murdered by the guards who caught him but knew what had happened, would he be reprimanding me or praising my acquired skills with the sword?

My male guest spoke, bringing back my attention, "Where are your aid supplies? I will treat your wounds."

I weakly shook my head. "That is not necessary. I can do it," I assured him.

He raised an eyebrow in disbelief. "Your arms are still shaking. How do you expect to do a good job without a steady hand?"

"…It's the small metal box behind the long table."

The assassin quickly found it and set it on the dining table. He opened it, looking through and pulling out a needle, thread, and bandage wrappings. "Do you have any healing balm or a candle?"

"I ran out of healing oils a long time ago. Let me get the candle," I stood up before he could respond and walked into my bedroom. Grabbing a tall one, I lit it and brought it with me to set next to the medical box. My aching feet relaxed again as I sat back down, and anticipating what the assassin was going to do, I withdrew my Syrian dagger and cut the blood soaked sleeve off.

To my surprise, the assassin unzipped a large pouch and took out a small, metal canteen filled with liquid. _Alcohol?_ He uncorked the lid and poured it onto my gashes-_FUCK, THAT STINGS! _I hissed. It smells very good, though, and would probably be wonderful to drink right now, but why does it burn when poured onto open wounds?

Thank Allah he soon stopped and put the canteen away. He guided the needle into the flame of the lit candle. I looked at his action in puzzlement. Why is he doing that? After a few minutes, he pulled the needle out as it glowed orange for a several seconds. The assassin finally pulled the thread through the needle and told me to set my arm on the table and be still.

I did as he instructed, and I felt the hot needle penetrate my flesh in small, circular motions as he sewed my higher placed gash closed. I began to wonder who taught him how to do this.

It must have been the extremity of this day, for I began wondering many things about the mysterious assassin.

So, he is definitely part of a large group related to the word "Masyaf," a notorious group if the horrified look on the captain's face was anything to go by. There must certainly be others like him, or of his status. Those fake scholars that actually pass for scholars seem to do basic scouting, spying, and eavesdropping. I considered stealing, but due to their lack of weapons (that I could see) stealing would be dangerous if they were caught.

Then there was the fake disciple. The young man had decent fist-fighting skills, and infiltrated well within his target's domain. Based on how he behaved subserviently to the assassin, I would say his rank is below the assassin but definitely above the fake scholars.

Despite almost nearly being murdered by the captain, the sword training I received actually worked. I remember how drastically my teacher stressed the basics, not willing to teach me more complicated techniques until I could perform the founding movements as controlled as him. Once he was satisfied that I had a good foundation, I learned more advance techniques. Deflecting was the first, but my least favorite. I will always be more comfortable with dodging, so when I finally got use to the size of the long blade, I was ecstatic. Learning various counter attacks became easier then. Still, in each lesson the assassin was strict, ensuring that I absorbed everything he taught me. After completing his training, I finally acknowledged one of the most important traits of his character: integrity.

I studied his moving hand on my arm. Even now he is doing his best to heal me. And he has saved my life twice now. Ah, damn it; that feeling is back!

I held my forehead with my unoccupied hand for a few seconds. Finally coming to a decision to get rid of the feeling, I lowered my hand to rest on my leg before looking at the assassin.

"Uh, hey," I addressed him. He looked up from his work but did not say anything. This unsettled me. "I… uh…" I cleared my throat. "Thank you… for saving me… again, and-" I started but was not sure if I should continue.

The curious look on the assassin's face told me I was too late and could not take it back. I shifted uncomfortably.

"Even though you nearly killed me and actually blackmailed me after saving my life back then, thanks anyway," I mumbled the last half.

The assassin's facial expression remained blank before he looked down to finish his work. Once he completed it and moved to the second gash, he finally responded to my appreciation but refused to look at me.

"Your welcome."

The silence that ensued was somewhat relaxing; there is not more either of us want to say about the situation.

Before I knew it, the assassin had finished patching the second gash, and he was wrapping a long bandage around my entire arm. Noticing he was almost done, I asked a question that has been bothering me since he first spoke my name.

"What is your name?"

His hand froze. That is not a promising sign.

"All the months you have known me, and now you ask?"

I narrowed my eyes. "Well, I figured if I did know your name that would give you a reason to kill me or something!"

The assassin suddenly laughed as if I told a hilarious joke. He is laughing at me, I just know it.

"I am serious!"

He continued laughing. _UGH!_

Groaning, I finally compromised, "Alright, look. If you do not want to tell me your name, I understand! But I need to call you _something_. After all, you know _my_ name, and I did not even give it to you."

Upon hearing this, the assassin's laughter gradually died. Looking back at my arm, he finished wrapping and securing the gauze then returned the medicine materials into their box. Finally, he looked at me straight in the eyes.

"Tazim. You can call me Tazim."

I repeated the name in my mind, pondering it. _Tazim... Why does that sound familiar?_

"What does it mean?" I asked.

He answered, "Honor, sometimes respect."

That explains a lot. Two words I rarely hear or even think about.

"What does your name mean?"

I hesitated. "It's… not pretty." The scenario that brought about that name is not pretty either.

"I want to know," he insisted.

Lightly sighing I gave in. "Kifah means 'struggle.'"

I expected a frown, blank stare, a retort, something neutral or negative. But instead, Tazim had a slight smile.

"Do not let it bother you. Everyone struggles. Besides, the last thing a _real_ man is going to care about is the meaning behind your name," he winked.

My eyes widened, and I briefly gaped at him. "W-What in the world does that have to do with anything?"

Tazim waved his hand dismissively. "Relax! It was a joke," he chuckled.

His laughter increased upon seeing my face redden. I could actually feel my face growing hotter! Scowling, I abruptly stood and marched to my bedroom and closed the door behind me. I pulled my bloody dress and sandals off and discarded them next to the door. Fumbling around, I collapsed onto the pillows and pulled the blanket over me.

Outside the door I heard Tazim's voice. "In three days I can begin training under you. In the meantime, get some rest, Kifah," he bid farewell and left.

No longer hearing his footsteps, I stretched out on my bed, exhausted. Unfortunately, I am mentally exhausted as well, and recollections of today played repeatedly in my head.

Curiosity took hold of my mind again as I recalled the poor woman whose arm was injured in the scuffle. How would she react to what happened to her? If I never met Old-Man, if I grew up with a normal life, would I have become like her? Weak and bullied by dishonorable guards?

Tazim. What happened that led him to become an assassin for his clan? I chose the path of a mercenary. Did he choose to become an assassin? I wonder when. I was quite young when I committed murder for the first time.

My eyes widened as the memory flooded my mind. I shut my eyes and grinded my teeth tightly, failing to push it back. It hurts!

_The twelfth day of September of 1205. The date marked forever within my memory, and I despise it with a furious passion..._

_The guard finally got off of me and went to retrieve his loose clothes and weapons. My entire body ached, covered in sweat. I tried sitting up, but the action caused paralyzing pain to my pelvis and lower back. My lower body collapsed back to the wet robe, but my flat palms braced the ground, keeping my upper body erect. I have to get up. Get up!_

_The guard had his undergarments on already, and he began to equip his armor._

_More slowly this time, I sat up, wincing but managed to settle on my knees. Reaching under the robe, I withdrew the dagger I had stolen from the guard's belt when we were stripping away our clothes. Gripping its hilt tightly with both hands between my breasts, I hoped the guard could not hear my pounding heart beat._

_I did not plan on killing him, and the thought saddened me even more when he had actually tried to comfort me. However, I cannot risk getting caught; I must stay free for Old-Man._

_I heard the guard's sword slide within its sheath, and I knew he was now looking for his backup weapon. Tightening my fists, I pushed my legs upwards to stand. The most piercing pain I have ever experienced shot through my entire body, making me violently shake and stumble while crying out. The guard noticed this and gently gripped my arms to keep me stable. Panic gripped my heart. He is not only twice my age, he is three heads taller than me; if he looks over me, he will spot the knife._

_Thinking on my feet, I swiftly turned around while hiding the knife behind my back in my left hand. My right hand reached up, grabbing the back of the guard's neck and pulling him down to my level into a kiss. As expected, he was completely shocked by it and starred into my eyes._

_I do not know how he knew, but he did. Somehow, he saw his death in my eyes. _

_My left hand thrust the dagger into the right side of his neck; supposedly the spot where Old-Man taught me is very lethal when cut._

_His teaching did not prove me wrong. Bright red blood drained from the wound rapidly. It and the overwhelming smell of iron drenched my neck and chest. I saw the life drain from the guard's eyes as he broke the kiss, falling dead before my feet._

_The guard's dagger remained in my grasp, and I stood there, still naked and absorbing all I have done tonight. Blood trailed down my body, dripping to the ground. _

_At some point I finally snapped out of the initial shock and bent down to pick up the robe. I wiped the fluids off of my body and cleaned the dagger as best as I could._

_I am not sure how, but the pain had gone away. _

_No... It is still there, but I cannot feel it anymore. Is this what happens right after you kill someone? You feel nothing? _

That's it?!

_Remembering why I had done these things in the first place, I located my clothes and dressed. The entire time I maintained my hold on the dagger. It is really too large for my hands, but maybe, with time, I will grow into it. _

_Glancing back at the dead guard, I walked to him and turned him over, searching for the belt and sheath for the dagger. Eventually, I found them and looted them off of his body. I equipped the material around my waist, and slid my new weapon into its sheath. _

_I have gained much today. I have gained new knowledge, new experiences, new equipment, and best of all, my first real weapon._

_As I walked away from the scene, my body still too sore to do any free-running, a heavy but unheard feeling began festering in the back of my mind, growing for years to come._

Despite all I have gained, why do I get the feeling I lost even more?

My eyes finally shot open, the memory locked away again at last. A new layer of sweat had formed on my body, and my heart beat is heavy. I rested a hand over the center of my chest; it is hurting.

That had not occurred in six years.

Before I could unwillingly experience another flashback, I rolled onto my uninjured side, bringing my thoughts back to Tazim. As I suspected, all of this bullshit with my memories started when I changed professions. But why? What the fuck is he doing to me?

I closed my eyes, cuddling into a pillow and attempted to will myself to sleep.

_Tazim, just what do you want from me?_

* * *

**sesshomaruisfluffypuppy:** _No worries! Call me sadistic, but writing from Kifah's 1st POV is fun because she doesn't know jack shit about the Order. And I like to leave just enough hints from Kifah's perspective to get readers guessing, so keep guessing if you like_ :D

**Mclawliet:** _Thank you very much! I'm actually embarrassed that I got such a long and detailed review._

_I think Maria technically became part of the Assassin Order but not necessarily an assassin (someone correct me if I'm wrong) since she married Altair and supported him as his wife. Also in Altair's 18th Codex, he mentions "brothers and sisters" within the Order. Unfortunately, the franchise doesn't go into detail on the positions of women who served the Order in 12-13th century Syria (besides being wives and mothers of male Assassins), so I don't have much to go on._

_Arabic curses are an interesting case! Then and now, vulgar language is taboo. You're right: a lot of the curses I've written they do not have, but there are curse-phrases that equate to current American cursing. For example, damn = blindness, fuck = your (insert female relative's) vagina, fuck you = my dick's in you, kiss my ass = lick my ass, etc. Surprisingly, they do have "son of a whore," "suck my dick," and "eat shit." But I figured it would be less distracting to write more current American cuss words than Arabic curses translated into English because, well, I couldn't stop laughing when I first read them._


	6. Recovery

The bustling noises generating from the crowd outside disturbed my ears, notifying my conscious of the outside world.

My muscles began to twitch, trying to move. My eyes opened to the darkness of my room. I am finally awake.

As I slowly sat upright, the pain and soreness throughout my body reminded me of what had happened. A sudden wave of dizziness distorted my vision, and I held my forehead to keep my head from rolling.

"Ow!" The tip of my middle finger had pressed against the center of my forehead. Curiously, I did it again. "Ow! Fuck!" I decided to leave my forehead alone; that bruise is going to take forever to heal…

Speaking of bruises, my left hand ghosted over my belly. Looking down, I noticed the quasi-foot shaped bruise is mostly purple, darkening at the heel-shaped portion. The outline of the sole of the guard's boot is a mix of purple and blue, alternating colors until it joined with the purple mass.

My leather belt is still wrapped around my waist. I was so exhausted I forgot to remove my weapon straps- Wait, where is my dagger?

Immediately my right hand patted where the sheath would be, and to my surprise and relief it is there. I did not throw it in my sleep… Maybe killing again was what I needed…

Speaking of weapons, I am completely out of throwing knives. I need to either buy or steal some. And I need to buy healing oils, maybe some creams, several wooden boards, and- GOD DAMN THOSE GUARDS! I lost my bag of merchandise! Who knows where they are now?! Ugh; all that work! I need to buy more cloths and threads and new sandals, too.

But first and most importantly, I need to get rid of my bloody clothes and take a bath.

I rose out of bed, stretching and moving around to get an idea of what movements I could manage. It will be impossible for me to just _move_ without pain for several days.

Reaching the drawer, I began looking for my black clothes and realized for the outside people to be making so much noise, it must be late afternoon!

_I WAS ASLEEP FOR HALF OF A DAY?!_

More rapidly I dressed and remembered my worn out, blood-stained sandals. Looking down at my feet, the burns are a dark red and still painful. Sighing in frustration, I skulked to the living room and noticed my health kit still open on the dining table.

The assassin- _Tazim _actually did well on my arm. He actually did a better job than I expected, and that revelation brought more questions about him. Did he have a talent for stitching or did he practice enough to develop such a steady hand? Did he have to practice on himself like I did? Tazim has certainly nursed others before; yesterday made that very clear.

Sitting down, I grabbed the gauze and wrapped it around my feet. As soon as I buy the medicine, I need to apply it.

I paused, remembering the much desired bath.

"Alright… Buy medicine, bathe, then use it!"

I placed the gauze onto the table and returned to the bedroom. Eventually, I located my free-running boots and equipped them. Reaching within my garb and pulling out my money pouch, I verified the amount of money within; definitely enough to buy what I need.

Tying my pouch to the belt, I strolled to the fountain to leave. Tentatively, my right foot rested on top of the metal figure, and I jumped to grab the edge. Once my fingers caught the rooftop, the weight of my body increased the strain on my arms, causing me to groan.

_Shut up. Suck it up. Get up! _Old-Man's mantra in his voice echoed.

I cut my voice short and focused on the bath calling my name. Slowly but surely I pulled my body onto the rooftop, nearly crying out when my stomach moved against the edge. Forcefully I calmed my breathing since I discovered breathing hard causes more pain in my stomach.

Right now I wish _I_ had killed that motherfucker instead of Tazim. Oh well. He is dead, so I should not complain.

Rising to stand, I jumped down to the hidden alleyway and began walking towards the Rich District.

It has been a while since I visited _that_ place…

**The Protector**

"Welcome back, my master! Does your heart desire company or comfort today?"

Though half of her face is hidden by a yellow cloth and a long translucent gold cloth covers her dark silver locks, the small wrinkles around her eyes revealed the woman's true age. However, her body remains finely curved, her skin smooth, and her belly flat. Surprisingly, she continued taking good care of herself considering her standing.

The stupid looking man in front of me took longer than necessary to decide. "Hmm… How about both?"

"Of course! Is there a specific woman you desire today?"

"Surprise me!" he grinned lustfully.

"Wonderful! Please, follow me," she beckoned seductively, and the middle-aged client giddily followed her upstairs.

This is the classiest, secret "private women's services" in Jerusalem, protected by the pockets of the wealthiest men in the Rich District. Unlike the bathhouses, I can bathe here without anyone interfering or asking annoying questions about my body. The owner provides very expensive soaps and oils for the consorts and has eunuchs heating up the water. And the manager has always taken good care of the "girls" despite her attitude.

A few minutes later, the woman returned to the entrance room and instead of greeting me, she looked me over.

I narrowed my eyes. "Still rude I see."

"Still lacking in breasts I see."

_AND SHE IS STILL A BITCH!_

Before I could lash out, the Madam raised a hand to keep me silent, and I instinctively complied. This middle-aged woman is the last person alive who has known of me for most of my life and knew my mother.

By the time we arrived here, we had nothing but blankets and our clothes. Mother and I had to resort to begging to collect enough money just to rent a room in the Poor District, and our landlord's daughter noticed this after a few weeks. At the time, she worked for the Madam to help support her family, and she advised my mother to do the same.

Mother was a devout Muslim (or at least tried to be) and wholeheartedly disapproved of prostitution, but our dire situation and continuously noisy stomachs eventually pushed her to seek employment from the Madam. Mother forbade me from following her to work, and she publicly punished me after catching me following her one day. So after that, I spent most of the days goofing around in the Poor streets, throwing small stones at cracks in random walls, and getting into trouble with other children goofing around. I even managed to make some friends during that time.

About a year passed, and Mother finally collected enough money for herself and left the prostitution business to open a clothing stand at the market. I did not realize it at the time, but she was completely determined to make sure I survived through honest means, even if it killed her.

The days of play were over. I never saw my childhood friends again, and I rarely went outside. Mother taught me how to sew, how to properly take bodily measurements, and how to make clothes. I spent every day practicing, but I continued entertaining myself by throwing rocks at cracks in the building across our home.

Who knew all those years throwing things and perfecting my aim would assist me in knife-throwing several years later?

Eventually, I was good enough to make merchandise alongside my mother, and that was how we lived. To my knowledge, she never contacted the Madam again, and it would not be until my fourteenth year when I reunited with the retired whore and used the private baths for the first time. Instead of going to the public bathhouses, I have been coming here ever since. I am actually amazed this old bitch has not increased the charge as time passed.

"You reek of sweat and blood, _Kifah_. Or are you calling yourself something different now?" the Madam lowered her hand.

I snarled from behind my niqab. "My name has not changed."

She raised her chin, continuing her study of my person for several more seconds before motioning me to follow her. As we walked towards the back, I ignored the curious gazes of the prostitutes and the noises emitting from the private rooms.

Finally, we reached the farthest and largest room, filled with five bathtubs, many buckets of water, and shelves holding various soaps and oils. One woman was just finishing her bath while another was drying her hair with a towel. I broke my gaze from their breasts upon realizing I was growing jealous of their endowments. I randomly picked an empty bathtub and began filling it with a fresh bucket of hot water.

The Madam bid some orders to her girls then approached me. "Do you know what scent you want to wear or shall I pick for you?"

Momentarily pausing, I glanced at the shelves. "I still know nothing about special perfumes. I do not care to smell pretty; I just want to smell clean."

She actually had the nerve to roll her eyes. "Still a boring little girl," she commented on my request and searched through the shelves for regular soap. "How long has it been since you graced my presence, Kifah? Three months?"

"Two, actually."

"Oh," the Madam replied unenthused. "Hmph. 'Kifah.' You don't deserve that name. I still advise you change it!"

Now it was my turn to roll my eyes. I do not know exactly what the Madam and my mother thought about the other, but it was evident that Mother disapproved of the Madam's lifestyle and the Madam greatly respected my mother's dedication to provide for me.

Perhaps that is why she is still so furious with me…

"_You are going to do _what?_"_

_I finished putting on my clean pair of clothes by pulling on my black niqab. _

_After finally gaining my revenge, I acknowledged my body's desires, especially the one to become clean of all the layers of blood it had accumulated in the past month._

_I remembered Mother once mentioning to her amazement the large array of expensive cleaning products the brothel had, and luckily I found the brothel's location. The Madam was quite surprised to see me when she realized who I was. She asked how Mother was doing, and when I revealed her death, she pitied me and gave me food and a bath._

_Once I finished and began dressing, the Madam asked how I was going to take care of myself. I suspect she was going to offer me to work for her, but after what I experienced, there was no way I would agree to be a prostitute._

"_I am going to be an assassin," I repeated._

_The adult woman continued staring at me in disbelief, but to my surprise words soon fell out of her mouth. _

_"Allah... I saw and smelled the blood, but I did not think- What did you _do_?" she questioned._

_The corners of my mouth began to dip down. I should have known she would react like this, but I cannot lie._

"_What did you do?" the Madam repeated. "Asi-"_

_I abruptly stood, interrupting her, "DON'T CALL ME THAT!" Her eyes widened even further at my rebellious behavior. "You are not my mother! You are not my father! You are not Old-Man! DON'T CALL ME THAT EVER AGAIN!"_

"_You unruly, betrayer of men-"_

"_My name is KIFAH! Say it!" I took a deviant step towards the Madam._

_The woman scoffed. "'Kifah?' You don't _deserve_ that name; your mother did! She struggled- she struggled every day entertaining men so she could earn enough money to start an honest living and be a good example to you and take care of you 'normally.' And that was all she ever talked about! And how do you repay all of her hard work after she _died taking care of you_? By committing murder and earning BLOOD MONEY?!"_

_Her slap caught me by surprise, but the force was nothing compared to a man's slap. I could tell I caught the Madam by surprise when I did not make a sound or barely react, or perhaps it was my retaliating punch that really caught her by surprise._

_The Madam screamed from the strike, holding her nose. Blood poured from the nostrils, soon covering her right hand. "You little bitch! You ruined my face!"_

"_Oh, believe me: I can do worse than that."_

_The woman's mouth twisted into an ugly scowl along with her hateful eyes, and the blood covered her mouth and chin, began dripping from her chin, and trailed down her right arm._

"_Ungrateful, misbegotten little murderer!"_

"_IT'S _KIFAH_!"_

_I backhanded her. This time she yelped, twisting and falling to the ground, no doubt wondering how a girl my age could develop such strength. That is what happens after you constantly run away from and fight men for two years and continue training._

_Somewhat recovering from my attack, the Madam turned to me while still on the ground and demanded that I leave and never come back._

_I firmly denied her, "No. I will come back here again when I am desperate for a bath, and you will comply, because I will pay you too much money for you to resist."_

_The Madam screamed at me as I walked away, "MAY ALLAH STRIKE YOU WITH DISEASE!"_

"_Fuck you too, old lady! And thank you for your hospitality!" I yelled, not bothering to look back._

_After that encounter, the Madam started wearing face veils._

The bathtub was finally filled and steaming, and I set my newly bought bag onto a clear shelf. As I began stripping my clothes and leather equipment, the two women left to put on clothes and another prostitute entered to bathe.

"You look like a man with all those bandages, wounds, and scars."

I self-consciously looked at my person before glaring at the Madam. "Do you want my money or not?" That finally shut her up, and she continued looking for normal soap. I folded my clothes around my hidden equipment to conceal them, grabbing everything and my boots and placing them on the shelf next to my bag.

I know I look… masculine compared to the whores. They do not have huge, ugly bruises covering their stomachs and foreheads; they do not have scars from falls, blades, nails, and teeth adorning their arms, legs, and backs; they do not have muscles from years of running and fighting; they do not have callused hands, feet, sides, and waist; they do not have botched hair or small breasts.

I bent over, unwrapping the gauze from my feet, knowing it would do no good wet. I would have to be careful to not get the stitches on my arm wet, though.

Knowing the water is hot I gradually stepped into the bathtub and submerged up to my chest. My muscles immediately relaxed despite the slightly burning heat, but soon my body adjusted, making the water feel very pleasant.

An oncoming object came within my peripheral vision, signaling my left hand to rise, and I caught the dry bar of soap before it hit my face. I noticed the split second look of shock in the Madam's face before she concealed it. Curiously sniffing the soap, I confirmed that I am satisfied with it, and the old bitch hastily left the room without a word.

A deep sigh left my body as I further sunk into the water, but I kept my right arm out of it.

The sound of another woman dipping into a bathtub, unfortunately next to mine, alerted my ears, but I ignored it and closed my eyes. Now I can relax for a little while…

"Hey… Hey! I know you!"

_Or not._

I cracked open my right eye, glancing at the woman leaning over the edge of her bathtub to better inspect my face. Actually, now that I studied her healthy face, she seems very close to my age.

"Funny. I don't know you."

She nodded her head. "Yes, I do know you! I-I can't quite remember your name, but your face has not changed since I last saw you!" Despite her words, she continued starring intently at me, more specifically my eyes. It was starting to grate my nerves.

Narrowing my eyes at the young woman, I sat up to better study her. _There are very few people, much less girls, who would know my face__._

"Care to explain?"

The prostitute was genuinely surprised at my lack of recognition. "I know we were children at the time, but… Well, I guess it has been a long time. Thirteen years?"

My eyes widened as a name finally came to mind. "Aram."

The only girl besides me who risked playing with the mischievous young boys in the far northeast Poor District streets. But this prostitute cannot possibly be her. Aram was a short, uncoordinated, overweight girl, and she loved to talk. As annoying as she was, she always distracted whichever adult(s) me and the boys had pissed off and gave us enough time to escape the area to avoid punishment.

Now that I think about, she and I were blessed to have never been caught and stoned.

"You do remember me! Amazing!" she exclaimed in excitement. "I apologize for not remembering yours, but I think you only gave your name once. Besides, those boys always addressed us as 'Blabbermouth' and 'Archer.' Hey, why did they call you Archer anyway? And what is your real name? Why are you here? You don't work here, do you?"

Oh, my God- It is her!

I forced a smile and leaned back slightly. "You do not remember? I was a good shot with throwing little things, especially rocks."

Aram leaned closer towards my bathtub. "Even better than the boys? I don't remember that!"

Reluctantly, I nodded my head in confirmation. "Yes. Why do you think they called me that?" Before she could actually answer, I continued addressing her questions. "My name is Kifah. I don't work here, never will, but I am paying to use this bath."

The blabbermouth tilted her head. "Huh. 'Kifah'… I don't remember that name either. Oh well! How long have you been coming here?"

My left eye twitched. "Are your questions going to cease anytime soon?"

Her smile beamed. "Nope. What happened to you? You suddenly disappeared! The boys and I could not find you no matter how hard we looked."

"I had things I needed to do. That's why I did not show to play anymore."

"Needed to do what?"

I gripped the edge of my bathtub. "I do not want to talk about it. I just want to take my bath then get out of here!"

Aram blinked at me several times with a blank stare. "…You are _really_ tense! How old are you? Twenty? You are way too young to be acting like this!" She suddenly stood up and stepped out of her bathtub, trailing water everywhere as she walked to a shelf full of oil vials.

Scoffing, not quite understanding her train of thought, I replied, "I will turn twenty next month, if you must know. How old are _you_? Twenty-one?"

"No, I am twenty-two!" she corrected me, randomly opening and sniffing vials. "Do you have an abusive husband or father? Those injuries look serious! And don't think I have not noticed those old scars and your crooked nose."

I resisted the urge to touch my nose. I knew Shazeb lied about that!

Forgetting about it, I sighed and began massaging my temples. Aram's personality has not changed at all in thirteen years.

"I am not married, and my father is dead."

Freezing briefly in reaction to the news, Aram softly voiced her condolences. I did not respond.

"…H-How is your mother?"

"Dead."

Suddenly my childhood friend walked next to my bathtub, carrying several vials in her arms. The look of sadness and pity in her eyes caused me to shift uncomfortably.

"What?" I finally asked.

"How can your voice be so… unmoved?"

I looked at her in the eyes. "I do not want to talk about it, Aram."

She knelt down to reach my eye level. "…My father died too, Kifah… It happened five years ago. My little brother died then, too. Do you want to know how he died?"

Before I could respond negatively, she continued, "He died protecting my father from a homicidal _girl_."

All the muscles and nerves in my face and neck clenched, my eyes widening so much it hurt before I forced my body to relax immediately. But it was too late; I could see the memories and realization in her eyes.

Aram continued staring, her face full of sadness, hurt, pity, and now anger.

The ring of skin-on-skin contact echoed. I did not bother to nurse my reddening cheek, and I slowly turned my head back to look at Aram. Her happy-go-lucky attitude is gone.

"You…" she hissed. "IT IS ALL YOUR FAULT!" she suddenly screamed and grabbed the top of my hair, pulling it while dropping the vials of oil.

I hissed from the painful pull but did not bother to resist.

"Because of what you did, I had to become a whore to support my mother and sister! But it was not enough!" Tears broke through and trailed down her plump cheeks. "My mother sold my little sister to a Sheikh in Damascus without my knowing!" Aram's voice cracked near the end.

I did not respond to her testimony, and this made her more furious.

"WHY?! WHY DID YOU MURDER MY FATHER AND BROTHER?!_ KIFAH_!"

The grip on my hair hurt too much, so I promptly punched the top of her stomach. Aram arched forward coughing up saliva, and her hand immediately left my head to cradle her stomach. I saw torn bits of my hair tangled around her fingers, and the fury from that event resurfaced.

"Your father killed someone precious to me. Your brother tried to kill me to protect his father. That is why I murdered them without a second thought," I managed to explain calmly despite the dark glower forming on my face.

Shaking from the attack, Aram managed to lift her head, locking her furious eyes with mine once again. "Is that why you murdered the other guards in Father's platoon and their sons, too? For revenge?!" she spat.

I nodded my head. "Yes."

"W-Why did you not kill me or the mothers and daughters?" she wondered, strangely her eyes filled with… hope?

Taken aback, it took me a moment to figure that out myself. Actually, killing the sons was not part of the plan, but I was forced to since they were brave and tried to protect and/or avenge their fathers. I later realized the boys had a better chance of seeking revenge than their mothers and sisters, so it was probably for the best that I had killed them. Because of that, I considered murdering my targets' wives and daughters because I knew they _could_ seek revenge, though it was unlikely.

Yet every time I saw the mothers holding onto their weeping daughters for dear life, I could not bring myself to harm them.

Blinking hard, I breathed in to satisfy Aram's inquiry.

"Because they reminded me of my mother and I when we witnessed _my_ father's murder," I finally admitted.

"You are pathetic."

I snapped, "What?!"

Aram sighed. "And I am, too. I recognized the bite mark on your left shoulder from my brother, but I needed to make sure it was really you. But… when I realized you were also that quiet, really long eyed-"

She nostalgically giggled at the trait our childhood friends used to make fun of me for.

"-and starving seven year old marksman… Well, I still planned on drowning you."

"Why are you revealing this to me if you plan to avenge your family?"

She shook her head, causing more confusion. "I changed my mind. Your father was killed; my father killed someone you loved; and you killed my father and brother. I refuse to lower myself to your level and continue this murderous trend, though you deserve it," her voice was full of contempt.

My jaw lowered slightly, leaving my mouth barely gaping. Her decision shook me. How is it that I have not noticed that succession of events before?

_No... You saw it. You just ignored it like everything else._

The familiar sudden ache overtook my head, causing me to hold it. This startled Aram.

"What's wrong? Are you okay?"

I felt her hands on my shoulders, trying to calm me. That feeling came back sooner than I anticipated! FUCK!

The clear waters of the bath distorted, twisting and turning, changing colors. I suddenly recognized the twelve year old boy, his right eye missing. The form began to morph again; his skin became paler, his jaw line broadened and cheek bones became more defined, his right eye grew back, he grew two heads taller and became fifteen years of age, and his throat slit open to bleed. This new boy was the eldest and only son of the third target. Again the morph became someone else, the process and my recognition of my victims increasing in speed. Him, him, him, him, that little boy, him, the young man, that old man, that Sheikh, him, him, the twins, the guard, that guard, him, him, him, that captain, him, himhimhimhimhimthey-

I finally registered the choking reflex in my throat, but the blackness continued clouding my vision. I quickly lost consciousness in the presence of the sister of one of my victims, and there was nothing I could do about it.

**The Protector**

My eyes suddenly shot open, and I thrust my body upward out of water to finally get air into my lungs. I violently coughed the water out, instinctively clinging to the edges of the bathtub so my upper body would stay above water.

"That finally woke you up!"

I turned to the Madam and asked why the fuck I was underwater.

"Well, you see Kifah, I finally came to collect the money you owe me, expecting you to be finish with your bath by now. Yet instead, I find you asleep in the bathtub, pruning, drenched in oils and perfumes, and several broken _expensive _vials of oils next to your bathtub. Oh, and about twenty minutes ago, a five year employee suddenly quit because 'I am going to do what I should have done and bring back my sister!' I have no idea what is going on, but I am fairly certain it is _your_ fault! Now hurry up and pay up! That includes the wasted oils. And you said you did not care about smelling pretty!"

All I could do was look after her huffing form march out of the room with a completely confused, silent expression.

_What... the fuck?_

Lightly sniffing, the overwhelming scents of citrus, almond, and grapefruit filled my nose and burned the middle area of my face.

"ACHOO! Agh!" I abruptly stood up and covered my irritated nose. Who poured oils into my bath- No way.

Slowly, I sat back down into the warm, polluted water. Did Aram… forgive me?

No, nonononono. If she did she would have given it to my face. Quite frankly, I am not sure if it was her or the Madam who pushed my head underwater- Wait, the old bitch's hands were wet.

Apparently, Aram does not intend to seek vengeance against me anymore. She better not change her mind again. I will not hesitate to kill her if she makes an attempt on my life.

_May Allah assist Aram in rescuing her sister. She deserves at least that for what I have done to her family..._

On the other side of the tub, I spotted the regular bar of soap and vigorously scrubbed my entire body, trying to wash away the oils as much as possible. However, they had long absorbed into my skin and hair. Realizing it was futile, I moved on to washing the scales of blood off of my face and right arm.

Stepping out of the bathtub, I grabbed more buckets of water and rinsed my body and hair. Eventually satisfied that I am completely clean, I grabbed a towel and quickly dried.

I may be paying for the bath and the oils Aram dropped and used, but I am not cleaning up the mess.

Grabbing my belongings, I entered an adjacent room where a few prostitutes were trying on and choosing revealing garments to wear. Ignoring everyone, I found the most private spot available and began to dress. After clasping on my leather straps and belt, I unraveled the wet bandages. I reached into my bag and pulled out one of the expensive medicine jars I had purchased in the Rich District's market. Among that are other expensive healing oils, creams, gauzes, surgical thread, and sturdy leather sandals.

If training the assassin to counter throwing knives was going to go how I expected, Tazim is going to need a lot of stitches.

I carefully rubbed the healing oil on my burns, causing immediate relief. Moving to the gashes on my arms, the oil actually stung, and there is no telling how beauty oils and perfume filled water affected the wounds.

Finished after applying it to my bruises, I placed the jar back in the bag and pulled out the gauze to rewrap my feet and arm.

"Kifah! Where are you?!"

I ripped the end of the bandage off violently upon hearing her voice.

"I'm over here, Madam, getting dressed!"

By the time she found me, I was pulling my free-running boots on, the last of my clothing. The brothel manager gracefully extended her open palm, demanding the payment.

"Forty pure dirhams."

"What?!"

The Madam tilted her head. "Twenty for the bath and twenty for the oils and perfumes," she explained like she was speaking to a child.

Something twitched.

I took out my money pouch and counted the pieces. "Here, you fucking bitch."

She caught the pieces in her palm and hid them within her yellow tube top. "It has been a pleasure, _Kifah_. Now get out."

I sneered at her, and I am sure she saw it despite my black niqab.

"Gladly."

I strolled past her and showed myself to the front door. _I am going to find an expensive restaurant and eat an overdue lunch, then go home and fucking relax..._

**The Protector**

"Excuse me. Have you seen the woman who runs that clothing stand?" the guard pointed towards my abandoned market stand.

"No, sir," I gently voiced, looking at his lips with a worried expression. "Why?" I faked fear, careful to avoid eye contact.

The young guard blushed. "She murdered eighteen guards two days ago; a very dangerous, accursed woman. A guard who managed to escape claims she is an assassin, so if you see any women completely dressed in white, alert the guards."

My eyes widened as I urgently nodded my head at the guard's instructions. He bid me farewell and left to continue questioning other civilians about my whereabouts.

_Shit._

Yesterday, I spent the rest of the day at home sleeping and reading books. I was so gorged from lunch I decided to finish shopping early and went straight home. I planned to continue shopping for the training materials and check on my stand the next morning. When I awoke, the first thing I did was sneeze from the ever strong aromas soaked onto me. Even the outfit I wore yesterday still smelled of citrus, grapefruits, and almonds, and it was airing out in the other room!

At the realization that I smelled so high class and womanly made my cheeks flush, and it did not feel appropriate to wear my average clothes smelling like this. Groaning from self-induced embarrassment, I dug within the deepest contents of my clothing drawer.

About twenty minutes later, I finally found the dress Shazeb Al-Roze gave me for my nineteenth birthday. The base color is a rich, dark blue with outlining thread dyed a subtle green. The niqab that came with it matched, except the colors are switched. Since the burn marks upon my feet had yet to completely heal, I reluctantly decided to wear my boots again in hopes that the colorful dress is long enough to conceal them.

Refilling my pouch, grabbing my work-bag replacement, and arriving to the Poor District's market, it did not take long before I felt all the gazes and heard the neck muscles of turning heads. I mentally thanked Shazeb again for buying a matching niqab instead of a hijab; my face was going to remain red the rest of the day!

Imagine my immediately turn of emotions when I noticed several guards in and surrounding the market, questioning sellers, buyers, and people simply passing through about me. Where is she? Who is her husband? Does she frequently wear white? Where does she live?

The alleyway filled with corpses and blood _was_ found; must have been the stench. The guard who ran away eventually decided to provide insight. What a hero.

My shoulders sunk. Although making and selling clothes is the most boring occupation I have ever done, it is the only way I know how to make money besides stealing and assassinating men. I have to return to being incognito before I can resume working in the Market.

Letting out a deep sigh, I readjusted my bag's strap upon my shoulder and made for the Middle District. I should not draw too much attention there.

As I crossed the boundaries, my mind began drifting towards Tazim. _Honor, respect._ These words do fit him, or at least how he behaves, but I doubt that is his real name. Seriously, what kind of assassin gives someone their real name unless they are going to be killed...?

Maybe Tazim is his real name. I could not help but chuckle. Well, either way I will not be overpowered by him again. He will die before me!

About two hours later I had completely filled my bag with wooden boards. Even here I am still getting looks and turning heads. How embarrassing!

Wanting distraction, I hurriedly found a food stand and ordered shawarma. I sat down on a nearby bench, happily taking weight off of my feet. Soon the food was unwrapped, my niqab was pushed up just enough to reveal my mouth, and I forced myself to not madly devour my favorite meal.

My ears detected someone sitting next to me on the bench, but I ignored them to enjoy the rest of my shawarma. Oh, so many flavors! I briefly moaned upon consuming the last bit and pulled my niqab back down.

"I still cannot believe how much you love that dish."

Head whipping to my right, I recognized thick white cloth, leather, and the hilts of knives. The assassin was leaning forward, resting his chin against his fisted hands, which are supported by his elbows resting on top of his upper legs. He is looking down, at the ground I suppose.

I could not help but wonder, "Did you follow me?"

He actually chuckled. "No; this is coincidental. I am hiding from the guards."

I raised a challenging eyebrow. "What guards?"

As if on cue, three guards sprinted past us, continuing down the road and yelling for the assassin they lost sight of to stop fleeing.

Tazim chuckled again. "They are very stubborn."

"Ha. You do not have to tell _me_ that," I commented. "But while we are here, let us talk."

"Oh?" I surprised him for some reason. "Hmm… Yes. I have time."

Nodding I asked, "Are we still starting your training tomorrow?"

"Of course."

"Do you mind having it during the daytime? Vision is critical in countering small, thin projectiles."

He thought for a moment before answering, "I see your point. How about right after sunrise?"

I laughed a little. "You mean no more eating in the middle of the night? Okay."

Suddenly recalling my discovery this morning, my smile died. "Tazim."

"What?"

"I cannot sell clothes anymore. The guards are looking for me. How am I going to make money?"

He turned his head to look at me. "Kifah, I _know_ how much saved coins you have. If you use it wisely, you can go without working for at least a year. Besides, the guards will forget about you and concentrate all of their efforts on me within the month. Trust me."

The muscles within my neck began to clench due to my frustration. I knew it would not happen, but I was still hoping for his consent for me to kill for coin again. That fight reminded me of the immediate effects I get from killing, yet encountering Aram completely used up those effects. No doubt my body will start attacking again in my sleep…

Tazim suddenly gave me a suspicious look, but it quickly disappeared as he returned his gaze towards the street. Our talk is over.

Standing up, I brushed my garb and walked away. There are throwing knives to be stolen.

It did not take long to find brown-clothed thug territory, although it is smaller than the black-clothed thugs' territory. They are bolder with their gloating in the middle of streets, getting in people's way like a bunch of arrogant assholes. Unfortunately, they are harder to pickpocket, but it merely requires extra patience. It is not like I do not have the time.

An hour later, five very angry thugs were picked clean of their throwing knives and still looking for their own culprit. The most recent one huffed and puffed, walking heavily past me. I smirked under my niqab, glancing at the forty-something knives resting at the bottom of my bag.

_I still got it._

Finally done shopping, I switched my bag to my left shoulder since my right one was getting tired and began walking home, rather pleased with my old pickpocket skills.

I am not sure for how long I was dozing as my legs carried my body home from memory, but the sudden cry of an eagle jerked my mind to reality. Instinctively looking up for the source, I quickly spotted the bird of prey circling around the top of one of those ridiculously tall roof towers, but something does not seem right…

With my eyes squinting, I slowly walked closer towards the building, wondering why the eagle had not landed and instead continues circling it. Curiosity overtook me, and I jogged towards the nearest wall to throw my bag onto the roof. Careful to not ruin my dress, I gripped the edge of the rooftop with my hands and swung my legs upward and over. My left leg managed to reach it, and I pushed up enough to allow my body to roll over onto the roof. Equipping my large bag again, I got a different look at the top of the tower and finally saw the wooden perch sticking out. They were made to allow builders to continue constructing higher portions of the buildings, but sometimes the particularly high ones were not taken down despite their purpose finished.

So why is there a familiar white figure squatting on the perch and preventing the eagle from sitting there?

My eyes slowly widened as I processed this observation.

_...Oh, my God..._

Suddenly the figure jumped forward off of the perch, forming a cross shape with his body. The person suspended in the air for one second before the falling began, and they seemingly without effort flipped their body so their back faced the ground instead of the sky. My head followed the figure's blurry form as it went down, increasing in speed until it disappeared past the edge of another rooftop.

My adrenaline spiked, causing me to sprint and leap across three buildings before jumping off. I landed with a heavy thud due to my baggage in the middle of an empty, small path, but I did not care as I frantically searched for the person's body. I am positive they should have landed here!

Ruffling from a nearby cart of hay seized my attention, and Tazim jumped out of it.

Mouth opened wide, jaw gaping, the assassin did not notice me as he brushed the bits of hay off of his clothes while mumbling under his breath.

Finally, he raised his head and flinched in surprise, recognizing me.

Several awkward moments of silence ensued.

"…Uh… Did you see me…?"

I continued gaping under my head veil.

"...Kifah? Hello?" he waved his right hand.

"H-how… How the _fuck_ did you do that?" I finally mustered.

Tazim forced a cough to give him time to think. "It's… It is not that impressive, really. I know two men approaching their fifties that can perform that better than I!"

Completely baffled, I clamped my mouth shut and shook my head. "That is not what I meant." And he knows it. "I have _never_ seen someone perform such a suicidal feat before."

I caught his upper lip threatening a snarl. "It is not a way of suicide."

"Then what is it?"

"That is none of your concern," his voice hardened.

I briefly paused. "Huh… Must be a Masyaf thing," I muttered.

My bag fell from my shoulder as my head and back hit the uneven wall of a tiny alleyway. The wooden and metal contents loudly fell out and scattered across the ground.

"AH!" I cried out, surprised and in pain.

_WHAT IS WITH THIS WEEK AND ME GETTING INJURED?!_

Opening my eyes, I was met with Tazim's dangerous expression. For the first time in several months, I spotted my death in his eyes.

Familiar fear consumed me, but my temper quickly emerged to take over. "What the fuck?!"

"How do you know of Masyaf?!" His right hand tightened around my throat.

My nails immediately went to his fingers, trying to pry them off. "Tazim-"

"Answer me!"

I struggled at the increased pressure. Whatever Masyaf is must be very important; I do not think he even realizes how much excess strength he is using…Ah-I can't breathe!

"KIFAH!"

_Air... Need air! Ta..z...im..._ My vision began to blur.

Suddenly the grip that enclosed my throat was gone, and my muscles violently contracted, taking in much needed air. My vision immediately returned to normal, and I coughed a few times while kneeling on my hands and knees. Though breathing hard, it was under control, and I raised my head then stood before the assassin, seething. I raised my arm.

Tazim's head was completely turned to the left, his exposed cheek quickly reddening.

I starred at my open palm, already dark red from the use of pent up frustration, aggression, and adrenaline and anger fueled strength. That was meant to be a punch, yet my fist opened at the last second, turning it into a slap.

Hearing his neck crack as he turned his head back to me brought my attention back to my anger.

Fisting my palm and returning it back to my side, I yelled, "YOU ALMOST STRANGLED ME TO DEATH, YOU SON OF A WHORE!"

"Hey, what's going on here?" A distant unknown voice along with footsteps got closer. Two patrollers with drawn swords came around the corner and started walking towards us.

The other pointed his sword at me. "Woman, behave righteously or we will execute you!"

Side stepping to face the oncoming guards, I swiftly crossed both arms across my chest, reaching into my colorful garb and pulling out one throwing knife in each hand. I promptly threw them, and I side stepped back in time to face Tazim before each knife hit between the guards' eyes. In the background, their strides stopped halfway, their bodies losing all feeling and falling forward to hit the ground, and nobody gave a damn.

I maintained my glare, utterly pissed. His expression remained blank, as if not sure how to respond.

Opening my mouth, I continued my rant, "I was trying to tell you that I have no idea what a 'Masyaf' is! When I fought those groups of guards, the last Captain mentioned it: 'Whether you are one of those Masyaf dogs or not, I am going to enjoy killing you!' I don't even know what the word_ means_!" my voice finally cracked.

My eyes began to burn and became irritated, but I hardened my heart to push back my feelings. I shed tears for no one.

I turned to look for my stuff so I could take it and go home, but Tazim grabbed my wrist before I could walk away.

Twisting my head back to him, I forcefully asked, "_What_?"

Though his face remained blank, I noticed through his slightly opening and closing mouth that he wants to say something to my face. I am already completely out of patience, so I narrowed my eyes, mentally telling him to hurry up.

Finally, his grip loosened, and he began, "It was not my intention to harm you. I was very troubled, and that made me angry."

Immediately my mind played back the recent memories, trying to verify his explanation of his actions, but I cannot find a sign that indicated Tazim was _troubled_.

"Why?"

He decided not to answer and continued, "I… am sorry."

My eyes widened, completely shocked.

No one except Mother has ever apologized to me.

_I affectionately gripped the bony hand within my fleshy, smooth one. _

_Mommy developed a fever about two weeks ago but continued working until she finally fell over arriving home three days ago. We would have hired a doctor already, but even I knew we do not have enough money for that._

_I am scared, _really_ scared._

_I knew from the one time I had fever that I recovered from sleeping and drinking a lot of water. Mommy has been sleeping a lot for the past three days, but she cannot drink water anymore. She says it hurts her throat too much, like when she stopped eating recently._

_I don't get it! Sure, we were starving for a while when we got here, but once we settled she ate just fine for five years! Until a few months ago..._

_Now here she is, lying in her bed asleep again. When she was awake she started speaking in tongues; I have no idea what Mommy was saying!_

_Looking at her face again made me sad. It was skin and bones, and I instinctively knew the rest of her body was like that though she kept me from seeing anything except her face and hands. I don't understand..._

_Kneeling next to her form with her hand still in mine, I did not notice my eyes closing or when I fell asleep._

_A shaky pull on my sleeve slowly stirred me, bringing me out of another dreamless sleep. Mommy was awake again but shivering a lot. I took her hand again; it was freezing!_

"_Mommy!" Alarmed, I gave her a hug to try and make her warm._

_I could feel her head rise a little so her breath brushed my ear. "I... s-s-so sorry, m-y baby," she whispered. She managed to speak sense!_

_I raised my upper body and head to look at her. I don't know why she is apologizing, but I smiled anyway to comfort her. "It's okay, Mommy. I love you!"_

_Noticing the lack of sunlight, I crawled into bed, wrapping my arms around her to keep her warm. Her shivering slightly lessoned._

"_I love you... more." I barely heard the last word, but I heard it and smiled wider._

_Cuddling, I rested my head next to her shoulder and fell asleep, tired._

_The next morning I woke up at the break of dawn per habit. I was still cuddled up around Mommy, and I loosened my hold on her. Sitting up, I quietly jumped out of the bed and grabbed a lime from the table. Even after peeling and eating the sour insides, I was still hungry, so I ate the peels._

Hm… We're out of food. I need to go to the market and buy some.

_I did not want to disturb Mommy's rest, but I do not know where the money is. And I am still hungry!_

_Walking back to the bed not far away, I spoke to Mommy to wake her up. When that did not work, I placed my hand on her blanket covered shoulder and pushed._

_My eyes widened. She was like stone! I tried pushing again, harder every time but nothing worked. What sorcery is this?_

_Tears began to brim in my eyes as fear and sadness filled my heart. I sprinted out of the rental home towards the house our landlord lives, desperate for help, but instinctively I knew she was never going to wake up again..._

_Just like Daddy._

The assassin had released my hand at some point because it was now covering the opening for my eyes. My palm pressed hard against my eyes.

This is completely unheard of. No one else has ever apologized to me, and certainly not a _man_. I knew there was something off about Tazim, nonchalantly conversing with a woman not his wife or relative, not minding seeing my hair and neck, teaching me, learning from me, but this… What is wrong with him?

I grit my teeth in frustration. I enjoyed his behavior; there is no denying that.

Finally, I lowered my hand, allowing me to see the world again. Tazim's face remained emotionless, almost making me question whether I had actually heard his apology. But I am not delusional, so I am sure I heard it.

His shifting pupils betrayed his inner emotions.

I blurted a pathetic laugh. "You are the strangest man I have ever met!" Releasing a few more quiet laughs, I relaxed and waved my hand dismissively. "Let us forget about this! I will even forget the word Masyaf if you wish."

Tazim actually frowned. "You do not forgive me?" he went straight to the point.

Immediately frowning in return, I shifted uncomfortably. "It… I have never done… that… before." Why this admittance is embarrassing me and causing me to feel shame is completely beyond me!

The assassin's expression suddenly changed, but I missed it since his blank expression returned. Adding more to my confusion, he briefly smiled and patted my uninjured arm.

"I really am sorry, but I will wait as long as it takes to receive your forgiveness."

Again, this man baffled me. I had no idea how to respond, so I settled for just nodding in agreement.

That matter settled, I guess, Tazim changed the subject, "So, are we still going to train tomorrow morning?"

My person calm once more, I answered in affirmation.

"Thank you, Kifah," with that he left, running up the wall behind him and climbing onto the roof. I could tell by the sounds of his footsteps that he ran for several feet before jumping onto something and running even further, the sounds growing fainter and fainter.

Looking to the ground, I knelt down and gathered my fallen goods. Now with the wooden boards and stolen knives back in my bag, I carried it on my left shoulder and finally resumed walking home.

What accursed bunch of days! I cannot wait for this week to be over.

* * *

**yourxenium: **_Thank you very much! I refuse to comment on Tazim. But I do find your theory about "Old-Man" very interesting. As I told **Mclawliet** in the previous chapter, I like to keep details as canon as possible, so hopefully you and the other readers will figure out the "current" year of this story/chapter after reading this chapter- that should reshape some of everyone's theories. I will keep doing my best!_


	7. Reproof

**Toponymy is the study of the origins and meanings of place names.**

**Anthroponymy is the study of the origins and meanings of people names.**

**Minarets are prayer towers, structured around the domes of Islamic mosques.**

* * *

I starred aimlessly at the wooden ceiling. Even though it is pitch black in my room, my eyes had long adjusted to the darkness; I could recognize anything by the slightest difference in shades of colors (or lack thereof).

The muscle stretching from the underside of my knee to my ankle suddenly twitched, causing my right foot to kick out a short distance, enough for my toes to escape the blanket. Now my toes are cold.

Unfortunately, I am still too sore and tired to care to pull my toes back under the cover. I got hardly any sleep, and based on the songs the birds are singing, Tazim will arrive soon.

I immediately snarled. He is frustratingly confusing- an absolute enigma! How can a man with such confidence- patronizing confidence, strict behavior, high air, and skill just… lower himself like that? And not to just any woman but to me? He is above me; we both know this.

He almost murdered me… multiple times, and I do not know why. He saved my life, and I do not know why. He forced me to change my life and became involved in it, and I do not understand why. He constantly switches between treating me like a boy, a girl, or a woman, which I had already become accustomed to because of Old-Man. But even then, men do not apologize to boys; they ask forgiveness from the boys' fathers.

There is no man governing me for Tazim to apologize to, I suppose. Still, apologizing to a woman is just- just- just-

_Unmanly._

I still have mixed feelings about how the assassin has treated me since we first encountered each other eight months ago. The feeling of accomplishment and pride is impossible to ignore, no matter whom it is earned for. Getting praise from Mother for sewing well, getting praise from Old-Man for performing techniques well, getting praise from Tazim for performing techniques well, they are all the same feeling. But I am still resentful towards Tazim for intruding into my life like he did. Why did he care? Why does he still care?

Why did he not kill me? Whatever the entire reasoning was in his mind, I could tell he believed it to be justified, yet he spared my life. Why?!

Having further mentally exhausted myself, I sighed deeply and ignored the pain from stretching my abdomen. I finally closed my burning, sleep deprived eyes, and the mutilated bodies of all the men I have killed instantly appeared around me. Rising and coming to life, their faces frozen in terror, agony, and/or fury moved to look at me. Suddenly, my past victims all sprinted and grabbed onto me, yelling in vengeance and began pulling parts of me in different directions with abnormal strength. They quickly tore me to shreds as I screamed in distress and bled to death.

My eyes opened wide for the fourteenth time while I cursed under my labored breaths.

_Ba-bump, ba-bump, ba-bump..._

This… is not good.

The anticipated yet sudden knock on my bedroom door startled me, making my entire body jump to an upright position while my heart pounded even louder.

"Kifah, are you awake?"

I groaned, mentally cursing Tazim for nearly scaring me to death. My right hand rose to rub my eyes.

"Yes."

"…Are you still in bed?"

Rolling my eyes, I dragged myself out to stand and stretched, ignoring the soreness of my body.

"I am out of bed. Wait for a few minutes."

Tazim did not respond, and I walked to my clothing drawer. As I predicted, the nightmares returned last night along with my sleep-thrashing. It was a wise decision to hide my personal weapons in the drawer. Sliding various drawers open, I found and equipped my leather straps, leather belt, throwing knives, dagger, brushed cotton clothes, and leather boots.

Still, this is disturbing. It was bad enough that I began reliving my past and experiencing the nightmares, _vague_ nightmares, first soon after I quit killing for a living, and over time they slowly increased in clarity. Last night- and this morning… it was as if Allah summoned the sun into my dreams, allowing me to clearly see and experience the nightmare.

_Is that how all of my nights will be from now on?_ I wondered in alarm at the thought. I have gone days without sleeping before, but everyone eventually needs rest. Besides, I would rather not engage in that exercise again and test my limits even though it has been six years.

Old-Man's tests were rather brutal now that I am old enough to look back and think about it…

Five impatient knocks broke my train of thought. Tazim was wordlessly ordering me to hurry up.

"Yes, yes, I am dressed and coming out!" As I approached the door, I spotted my sheathed sword leaning against the perpendicular wall. The sword and its scabbard are cheap, typically made for novices, such as myself; the sword is straight and a dull gray while its holder is made of fading leather. I kept the beginner's sword for practicing at home, and Tazim insisted that I keep it as a gift.

_Night fall was vast approaching, forcing my second lesson in swordplay to come to an end. Today was decent even though I only learned the most basic of stances and swings for the past four hours. _

_I held the sword's underbelly carefully with both of my hands so the hilt was closest to my new teacher and could easily be grabbed by him. However, his right hand barely pushed the hilt back._

"_Keep it. You need to practice what I teach you on your own time as well," the assassin suggested without regard for the long blade._

_I cautiously raised an eyebrow. "Are you sure? Is anyone going to miss this?"_

_He actually laughed good-heartedly. "Let's just say that it is not uncommon for me to break then lose my weapons."_

_The corners of my mouth and eyes dipped down upon hearing that. So he gets incredible bursts of strength. I hope they are not as happenstance as he claims they are._

"_Well... if it really is no trouble."_

"_Kifah, keep it." His gloved hands gracefully moved to his looped belts' buckles and unclasped them from the rings near the bottom of his wide belt. Pulling off the wound leather from them, the assassin handed it along with the attached leather scabbard to me. "Now clasp this around your dress and try running home while dragging a sword along with you," he smirked._

That and when I went to and returned from training under him were the only times I did that, and I have no idea how Tazim manages to put up with it on a daily basis. Having a long sword constantly banging and hitting your leg or _something_, bouncing against your leg, dragging one side of you down, least to mention the fact that it is a SWORD and easy to SPOT, is rather frustrating.

Yet I managed to prove to him that I could free-run with a sword as well as without a sword, if I was pressured to do so. Unfortunately, I have not beaten Tazim in this… game. No; I will not win until I can return to being a mercenary, and that will only happen if I can defeat him or he decides to leave me alone.

Pf. Neither of those scenarios is going to happen in the near future.

With new aggression I grabbed the scabbard's throat and looped leather straps attached to the stud. Luckily they are attached to a single, large buckle, so untangling the straps was not a problem. I pulled the layered belt around my waist before buckling it on my left side. I concluded that it would be more tactful to place the sword on my left for my right hand to grab it. If I should need to perform a sneak attack, especially with small weapons, my left hand will be faster and more coordinated.

I pushed my bedroom door open, revealing my new student browsing through my large bookshelf. Even from the back, his intrigue and curiosity shown. Upon hearing my arrival, he turned his gaze over his shoulder to address me, which was still amusing because all I can actually see is his nose, mouth, and chin due to that hood.

"Can you read?"

"Yes," I revealed while gathering my large work bag and all the materials we are going to need.

The following silence from the assassin alerted me of his skepticism. Of course.

"…You are uneducated," he stated with a hint of challenge.

"Yet I managed to teach myself how to read. I was poor, yet I managed to earn and save a sack of pure coins-"

The assassin interrupted, "By murdering in cold blood."

It took all of my will power to not roll my eyes. "I am a female orphan, yet I managed to take care of myself for years. Is the fact that I can read really that farfetched?"

Tazim paused then returned his gaze towards the various books, giving me the cold shoulder.

"No, I suppose it is not."

Too early to deal with his behavior, I silently resumed gathering and checking the wooden boards, throwing knives, and medicine box before placing them in the bag. All of this is heavy!

I exited the main room, knowing Tazim would catch on to my departure, and hauled the bag onto the roof before climbing up. The fountain has yet to suffer from being used and abused much to my amazement. Although, if the fountain did ever collapse, I would have a difficult time getting out of my house!

Once my legs reached the roof, I rolled over and stopped on my back to nurse my stomach. Ugh; that fucking bruise! It brushed against the edge of the roof every time!

The sounds of footsteps then climbing brought my attention back to my new student, and I sat upright abruptly. When Tazim reached and stood on the roof, I came to stand as well, but he grabbed my heavy bag before I could. Before I could even protest, he told me to lead the way to where I will teach him.

Deciding to just accept his kindness, I ran and jumped in the eastern direction. Thankfully, my recovering state and Tazim's extra baggage forced us to free-run at the same even pace.

In twenty minutes we were in the middle of the Poor District, and it was not difficult to locate decrepit buildings that have yet to be replaced. The bottom of the sun had finally shown, which means the rooftop guards are still in the process of changing posts. Our session should not be interrupted or bothered for another hour. Well, it should not be bothered at all; there is little reason for guards to pay attention to uninhabitable homes.

Landing onto the most stable looking roof, I told Tazim to return my bag. After he complied, I pulled out two wooden boards. These are good, strong wood I ordered to be cut into thick, square pieces the size of a small window. We will be using these as targets for many days.

An extra brick room with a collapsed roof stood about fifteen feet away on the far left side of the rooftop, revealing the broken wooden support beams sticking out of the wreckage. Walking towards the fallen room, I leaned the wooden boards against it and grabbed a freed wooden beam to lie against the front bases of the boards, securing them in place. Satisfied, I returned to Tazim and held the bag open before him.

"Take eight. You are going to do a _lot_ of throwing and retrieving," I could not help but smirk. I have never taught anyone a skill before, so this should be an interesting new experience.

Noticing my tone of voice, Tazim gave me an amused, almost mocking gaze before obeying. To his surprise, I retrieved eight knives as well. I am not going to stand on the side lines, bored out of my mind and simply study a man throwing knives!

Setting the bag full of material between us, I instructed, "Only hit the center of the board. Do not hit around it, and do not have your knives hit around a knife stuck in the middle. Aim for and hit _only_ the _center_ of the board. Understand?"

The assassin completed turned to face me, revealing his eyebrows knit together in disbelief. "That is an impossible feat unless you are firing arrows."

Even though I expected this reaction, his reluctance still annoyed me. "You're not throwing to mortally wound a man. You are throwing to _hit and deflect a small object being thrown at you_. It does not matter that the feat itself is impossible, but the precise aiming technique must be engraved into your mind and body."

Facing my wooden target, I repositioned my throwing knives between my pointer, middle, ring, and little fingers. Raising my right hand first, I swung to the left, releasing the first knife that hit the exact center of the board. I paused for two seconds. I swung back to the right, releasing a second that pushed the first arrow's body to the side so the second's tip could enter the edge of the hole. After one second, I threw again, and immediately threw again, both knives pushing over the bodies of its counterparts to hit the center point. Without hesitation my left hand rose and threw the remaining knives in quick succession. The fifth knife pushed the loosened first knife, causing it to fall off and land on the wooden beam. The sixth knife entered its mark on the board while pushing away the second knife and causing it to fall. Last but not least, the seventh and eighth knives knocked over the third and fourth knives, taking their exact places.

Smiling under my niqab, I gracefully strolled towards my target and took back the knives, revealing an impossibly tight cluster of holes that filled together to make a tiny, perfectly engraved circle in the middle of the board. I faced Tazim again, and my smile widened so much my teeth would be visible without my mask. The look on his face! HAH!

This is no doubt the first time I have really impressed him, well, other than when he first discovered my ability to counter throwing knives. But at the time, we were busy trying to kill each other, so I could not take in the satisfaction of amazing someone. I am finally getting that overdue reaction.

I walked back to the student nonchalantly, quickly pushing the bottom of his fuzzy chin up with my finger so he would close his mouth. The touch jolted his attention away from my feat and to my small action of gloating. I gave him his space, side stepping away from him while he resisted the urge to wipe his chin.

"If you can react, aim, and throw like that, you can counter throw _any_ small projectiles that come your way," I set the standard for him and resumed practicing, throwing my knives in different hand grips but still hitting the target with great accuracy and precision. However, I decided not to show off anymore and threw at a moderate, steady pace.

Tazim took a moment starring at the knives held in his left hand. Suddenly a tense air flared around him, and he gripped the first knife between his right thumb and forefinger and threw it. To my surprise, it landed three inches to the right of the midpoint. Undeterred, Tazim took another knife and threw it, and it hit about two inches above the center. He grabbed and threw another, hitting closer to his first knife than the center. Then he threw another, and another.

I stared at the assassin's movements, each showing his determination to reach my level.

I really should not be surprised that he has a competitive side, but… _Whoa__!_

The right corner of my mouth tipped upward. He has the focus and determination to become a master marksman, but he really prefers close combat and crossing swords. Actually, I do not remember even seeing a dagger on him.

_He probably breaks them so often he stopped wielding them,_ I half-way joked.

Finally noticing that Tazim used up his eight knives and was going to retrieve them, I walked parallel to him. We gathered our throwing knives, walked back, and resumed practicing at the same time.

**The Protector**

"Are you tired yet?"

"No. Unlike someone, I can keep going."

I groaned in response to his stubbornness. The sun is almost at the top of the sky, indicating we had been up here for at least four fucking hours. If I squint my eyes, I can locate the rooftop guards standing on decent structures many yards away. Maybe it is the fact I am wearing black while Tazim is wearing white that is causing me to overheat, sweat, and tire faster… or maybe it is the burning pain coming from my stitched arm.

About two hours ago, my right arm hurt so badly I could not throw well with it anymore, so I spent the next forty minutes only throwing with my left arm until I got very tired and quit. If Tazim noticed my discomfort, he was ignoring it and keeping his attention on his target. There really is no point for him to continue. He is not going to reach my level in one lesson, and the arm and eye strain had already started to affect his aim.

I sighed, feeling more beads of sweat travel down the sides of my face. "_Tazim_, it is enough. I don't care if you are not tired! I am, and I'm hot and sweating like a horse and…" I stepped forward but stopped.

The assassin finally decided to finish for the day and went to the far side of the roof to bring back his knives and our target boards.

I stared ahead, vaguely looking at Tazim's moving form. The sun is in the air, but black shadows started to creep in from the sides of my vision, gradually blocking out the sunlight. I tried to lift my foot only to realize it weighs like a block of bronze. Suddenly, my entire body feels much heavier, and I cannot keep myself up.

My knees buckled. Black overtook half of my vision, and I felt my clothed head hit the concrete.

Tazim quickly turned around upon hearing my collapse. "Kifah!"

Despite how much I protested, my heavy eyelids lowered and lowered until all I could see was darkness.

The last thing I registered was Tazim's grip under my arms.

**The Protector**

"…fah…"

_Pain…_

"..uck! Tha…..ot su….o happ…"

_Too hot…_

"Ki…You n…d to…to…eep."

_It's too fucking hot…_

"…t's…ight. You…..go…to be al… fah."

_Fuck! I can hear; why can't I see?!_

"…high …er. You need…o dr….or….." I cannot understand the voice I am hearing!

Sharp, yet relieving cold suddenly touched my lips and filled my mouth. Though I am confused, my throat swallowed the substance upon reflex, and I finally realized it is water. Suddenly realizing how parched I am, I leaned closer to the source of water. I want more!

When it pulled away my mind started to panic. It cooled my insides greatly; I need more water!

Immediately the water droplets fell on my lips again, and I aggressively raised my head to meet whatever contained the water. The life saving drink came in and I quickly swallowed all of it till there was no more. I felt the same source of water leave my lips again, but I did not panic, knowing it would return with more. It did much to my relief, and the more water I drank the more my body cooled and relaxed.

Unfortunately, my mind started to clear, and I became more aware of the pain I am in though I do not care or understand why.

After nearly twenty drinks of water, I attempted to voice that it was enough. Unfortunately… despite my concentration, I do not know if I even sounded legible.

I got my response when familiar callused fingertips massaged my temples. If my eyes were not already closed, I would have closed them. Those hands are surprisingly gentle and soothing…

"Kifah, go back to sleep."

I sighed deeply as my head got lighter. That sounds like a good plan…

**The Protector**

"_AH!" I cried from the sudden strike, falling to the floor and cupping my swelling cheek._

_The man standing in front of me shook his head. His arms were placed across his chest after slapping me. For a grey-haired man, he is very strong and has no body fat. I still had trouble telling if it was because he only ate one meal a day instead of three or because he remained active for a man his age… maybe both._

_He had a short hair cut and short, bushy beard, all grey. Of course he is much taller than me and stronger than me, and he can be very harsh!_

_But he is also taking care of me._

_I looked back at my recently found guardian and quickly wiped my brimming tears away, knowing such displays would displease him._

"_How many times do I need to hit you before you get it through your thick little skull that you should NEVER REVEAL YOUR NAME?!"_

_I winced. I think this was the fourth time I told him my name, actually asked him to call me by my real name._

"_Your name is special, but it is also dangerous. Letting anyone know your name can get you killed, Little-Girl! That's how my master died! You want to die too, stupid?!"_

"_B-but how will you knowing my name get me killed… You wouldn't tell anyone, would you?" My mind began to panic at the possibility of his betrayal._

_Suddenly, Old-Man leaned down on one knee and pulled me to him in a reassuring hug._

"_I would never do that. In fact, I always forget your name after you foolishly give it to me, just for your protection." He pulled back to look at me face-to-face and smiled lovingly. "No one, not even us, will know our names. Then no assassin can track us down and kill us."_

_Accepting his reasoning, I emotionally clung to him again, gripping his neck. "You won't leave me too, please?"_

_Old-Man figured out I was referring to my parents. In fact, the first thing he said when he found me begging near the market was, "Shouldn't you be at home with your mother learning women's work?"_

_I promptly revealed to him that I was an orphan and extended my hand for coin. Instead of giving me money, he grabbed my hand and dragged me away and carried me into his strange house despite my protests. Turns out I reminded him of his long-time dead granddaughter- I even looked like her, and he decided to adopt me in the moment._

_Well, I had no complaints as long as I had a roof over my head and food to eat._

_Old-Man rubbed my back in small circular motions, lulling me to sleep. "I won't leave you if you don't leave me. We're all we got, Little-Girl. We have to protect each other…_

…_Remember that." He lightly patted my hurt cheek._

My eyes cracked open before I fully regained consciousness. The patting on my bare cheek ceased, and my vision focused enough to recognize Tazim leaning over me.

"Are you alright?"

I slowly blinked. "Why do I feel like a pile of roasting shit?" I mumbled.

A warm laugh escaped him while he shook his head. "You are alright." Leaning away, he stood up, walked out of the room I was in, and was out of my sight.

Immediately I recognized my bedroom, but there is natural sunlight lighting the room. How is that possible? Looking around, the right wall contained two high placed windows while the back wall held a mid-placed window. There are multiple thin, crossed metal bars in them, meaning that they are part of the original design. The wood that had covered them looked as if they were cut off by a sword. Definitely Tazim's doing.

Old-Man's paranoia over the man who murdered his master must have led him to board the windows…

I glanced around my naturally lit room again. It was not until this moment I realized how disorganized my room really is; it is in desperate need for cleaning.

Tazim returned with one of my jars of water. Slowly sitting up, I accepted Tazim's assistance in having a drink. He carried most of the weight while I held and positioned the mouth of the jar so I can drink the water without trouble.

A full minute passed before I had my fill. I tipped my end of the jar upward to let Tazim know I was finished, and I gave my thanks as he left to put it back in the hallway. Taking deep breaths, I tried to remember what in the world happened. Why did I faint _this_ time?

"May I sit here?"

My gaze rose to meet the assassin's eyes. "Yes. I have questions to ask you." Tazim walked to the edge of my pile of pillows and sat cross legged on the floor. Able to study his face, I realized he looks exhausted and relieved, but mainly exhausted.

My concern for him spiked. "What happened?"

Thankfully he mistook the question to be about myself. "Those gashes I sewed closed somehow became infected and were left untreated long enough for puss to rise and cover the stitches and cause inflammation. The infection also made you develop a high fever. That is why you lost consciousness. To get rid of the source of your illness, I had to take out the stitches, wipe off as much puss as possible, and clean out the wounds. Their healing made hardly any progress!" he seethed.

Remaining quiet because I figured out how they became infected in the first place, Tazim took my silence as a sign to continue once he calmed down.

"Heh… You should recover well now. I made sure your wounds were clean before closing them with new thread."

I looked at my right arm and pulled up the black baggy sleeve, revealing fresh, clean bandages protecting Tazim's work. Wait a moment… I lifted my arms to verify with my eyes that the sleeves are baggy and made of normal cotton. Flinging the blanket off of me, my casual black dress was revealed, covering my pants-less legs.

My head whipped to stare hard at Tazim, who summoned his blank, emotional face in defense.

"Tazim… did you undress me?"

"Kifah, I did not see anything. I took extreme measures to not ruin your modesty."

"But you changed my dress?"

"Yes."

I could feel the heat gather on my face along with the embarrassment, humiliation at the fact that Tazim looked after my health _again_, and the urge to slap him.

"…I believe you."

His expression immediately became surprised. "Did you damage your head from the fall?"

My temper flared. "Ha, ha, smart mouth! Do you _ever_ take me seriously?"

His expression quickly changed into a playful smirk. "Only when it is necessary," he answered, joking or serious- only Allah knows!

Rolling my eyes and resuming voicing my questions, I could not help but wonder, "Did I hit your mouth in my sleep or something?"

"What do you mean?" His smirk disappeared.

"Your lips are a little swollen and red. Actually, they look kind of purple in this light."

To my absolute shock and amusement, an impossibly light but still visible blush spread across his thin cheeks. I burst out laughing.

"By God, you're blushing!"

"Don't be ridiculous! You are hallucinating!"

"Ha, ha, ha! _Right_. And you are a two headed dog with blue fur!" I continued laughing. The entire time Tazim lightly glared at my laughing form, waiting for me to stop while tapping his right foot.

Eventually I did, and I wiped the brimming tears away from my eyes.

"Ah… But seriously, it is not embarrassing to be hit by a girl who fights in her sleep. Now finding out that the man you loathe _undressed_ you- That is embarrassing!"

The assassin rolled his eyes at my reasoning, but he chose not to argue against it.

"Dear God, how old _are_ you?"

"Nineteen. Why?"

His gaze shot back at me. "You lie."

My eyes narrowed at his accusation. "Why would I lie about my age? And how old are _you_, huh?"

"I am twenty."

We stared at each other in disbelief, hoping that the longer we studied each other, the sooner the explanation of how this is possible would be revealed to us. I mean-yes, he is a man, but he is tall! And big for his age! What the fuck?!

I am actually the average height of full grown women here, but I am leaner, which adds to the illusion of looking smaller, than most women and have less endowment than most women, tricking most into thinking I am younger than I really am.

Most people think Tazim is older than he really is, and I was one of them. My head tilted slightly in puzzlement.

The staring continued, growing uncomfortably awkward. I studied Tazim's face again to try and figure out what he is thinking, but his features had become emotionless once more. This new discovery of our close ages reinvigorated my curiosity for the assassin. He must have made his first kill close to when I did. Also, how does he have the strength and skill of a veteran Captain? That takes talent along with years of training and combat experience!

An alarming theory suddenly emerged. Was Tazim born and raised to be an assassin? There are very secretive guilds, usually belonging to very powerful religious clans that breed assassins to serve their purposes. They are not people to be crossed, for if you are on their list, you will surely be hunted down and executed for the sake of their clan. If Tazim is part of that kind of guild, then I am in more trouble than I originally thought…

The movements of him standing up brought me out of my thoughts, and I asked what he is doing.

"I have to get back to work."

"Oh, that's right. _You_ have someone you need to track down and kill," I commented cynically. _Lucky bastard._

Tazim's eyebrows furrowed, showing his disbelief. "Kifah, just stop talking… and rest for the next few days."

This demand confused me. "What? Why- What about your lessons?"

I moved to get up, but he quickly brought his right hand to my left shoulder, pushing me back down to sit on the pillows. I lightly growled at him. Apparently I'm not getting out of bed anytime soon.

Now leaning on one knee, Tazim slowly pushed loose strands of black hair out of my face. Where his fingers brushed my skin left behind a tingling feeling, causing a sudden small shiver throughout my body.

"Your fever has not gone away; it merely went down. Your body is still weak, and your face is still pale. You do not have to be around for me to throw knives at a target, so get some rest." Tazim stood and walked towards the door, but then he stopped in front of it and turned around to look at me again. "Do you mind if my board stays here? I will come every morning to take it for practice, of course, and return it. I can also check on your wounds when I come, if you wish."

My bottom jaw lowered enough for my mouth to open. His face, his tone of voice, his body language; he really is concerned.

"G-go ahead…" I adverted my gaze and laid down on my bed, pulling the blanket to cover me again. Moving to lie on one side, I faced the right wall, so I heard Tazim leave my room and close the door.

That fever is making my face warm again.

**The Protector**

Four long, boring days passed, and Tazim kept up his five hour practice sessions on his own. Even though I told him it was not necessary, he checked my bandages every time he came to my house and rubbed healing oils on the skin. Of course, he would remind me before leaving to continue applying it at least once more before the day ended and to not forget about my bruises. He really wants me to heal.

I am fairly certain my fever is gone by now; all I have done for the past four days is go out to eat breakfast, lunch, and dinner, walk in the sun, lounge in random gardens, relieve myself, and come back to read and lay down.

Unfortunately, I have not gotten any fucking sleep because of that same fucking nightmare!

My fist pounded on the long table. The lack of sleep gradually shortened my temper, and my frustration has already maximized trying to figure out how I can get rid of the nightmares. God-_DAMN IT_! I should have dealt with this when they first emerged instead of ignoring them!

I ran my hands through my hair and closed my eyes while breathing in deeply through my nose.

_Clammy hands wrapped around my throat, squeezing my windpipe. I choked. My eyes widened in alarm, and I instinctively clawed at the hands to get them off. It was a man's body that the hands belonged to, but his face was unrecognizable. His eyes had been stabbed deep into his head, his nose and ears cut off, and there were countless slashes and stab wounds littering his face. I could easily see the ruined muscles and even bone. The messy, unskilled mutilation caused his entire front head and neck to be coated in blood._

_Out of all of my victims, there is only one man I have killed so violently; Old-Man's executioner and Aram's father had come to haunt me._

My breath hitched, causing my eyes to finally open. Oh, fantastic! If I keep my eyes closed for more than two seconds, my nightmares will come even though I am conscious.

I hit the top of the table again.

"Are you on your menstruation already?"

I did not bother to turn my head to the returning visitor. "I finished over a week ago, smartass."

In my peripheral vision I saw Tazim tilt his head and walk towards me. He placed his wooden target before me on the table, right next to my closed fist. It would take days to count how many holes are in it! The circle they made up is about fifteen inches in circumference. These hits would certainly kill a man, but Tazim knows he currently has no chance of deflecting a throwing knife.

Finally, I turned my head to look at him and raised an eyebrow.

"Any advice?" he asked.

Ah. I shook my head. "Other than what I have already told you, no. The only thing you can really do to improve your aim is to practice. A lot."

Tazim exhaled in frustration. He no doubt knew this beforehand, but he wanted me to confirm it.

As expected, my right sleeve was pulled upward and bunched around my shoulder. My left hand quickly grabbed it before it could unravel itself, and I stayed still while Tazim checked my arm's healing progress.

"How long have you been doing that?"

"Doing what?"

"Knife throwing?" he gave me a look.

"Oh… I started throwing knives when I was twelve, but technically I have been throwing things and perfecting my aim since I was seven."

Tazim's clothed head nodded in response. "What did you throw when you were little?" Now he is making small talk.

"Sticks, stones, pieces of broken vases, anything I could get my hands on," I humored him.

The assassin took out his wine container, uncorked it, and poured the alcohol onto the stitches. The freezing liquid traveled down my arm and dripped onto the floor.

Now it is my turn to ask questions. "When did you start learning swordplay?"

The cork was pushed back on, and Tazim hesitated to answer. "I think I was ten… or nine or eleven."

"Really? Whose brilliant idea was it hand a young boy a sword?"

"They were _wooden_ swords, genius. I did not get to practice with real swords until I was init-"

His entire body froze, catching his near slip. I frowned upon seeing the familiar, dangerous consideration thoughts in his face.

Rolling my eyes, and making sure he saw that, I consoled him, "I have no idea what you were going to say, and I am not going to pry. I'd rather you not try to choke me to death again."

Tazim smiled slightly before grabbing medicine to spread on my arm.

"Who taught you how to throw knives like that?"

"If I tell you, will you tell me who taught you how to fight?"

The assassin raised an eyebrow under his hood. "No."

_Damn it._ I giggled. "Well, it was worth a try. No one."

He stopped his work and looked up to make eye contact. "You cannot be serious."

I lowered my eyelids, wishing I could tell him to fuck off without repercussion.

"…You are serious. How?"

"Long story short, I accidentally stole a bag of throwing knives instead of coins from a thug, got bored, and taught myself how to throw them. Of course, I regularly spied on thugs practicing to get an idea of how to properly use them. But overall, I taught myself how to throw knives."

Suddenly Tazim laughed lightly while shaking his head down.

"What's so amusing?" I asked defensively.

"Nothing, nothing. Just over thinking," he cryptically answered and finished rubbing in the oil.

Tazim corked the small jar of healing oil closed and placed it on the table. Reaching over to the bandages, he rewrapped them around my entire arm, ending at my shoulder and wrist bone. I released the bunched sleeve, letting it unravel itself while falling down and covering my arm.

"Thank you." Experimentally I moved my forearm and flexed it. "I can resume teaching you tomorrow."

The assassin's arm stretched forward and out of my sight, but I knew what it was doing when I felt the cloth of my niqab move upward. My eyes closed on reflex until the veil was completely removed. Opening my eyes, I raised a curious eyebrow at the action. Tazim set the black cloth on the table and used the same hand to gently grip my small chin. I did not resist as he moved my face from one side to another, studying my profile. When he returned my face to the center, he released my chin and crossed his arms.

"When was the last time you slept?"

My eyes widened a little, surprised he had noticed my sleep deprivation even with the niqab on.

"What do you mean?"

"Under your eyes is dark, your cheeks are thinner than usual, and your cheekbones look sharper. _When was the last time you slept_?" he repeated the question.

"I-Uh…" Tazim glared, daring me to brush him off. "…Six days ago."

"What?! Why have you not gotten any sleep?"

The feeling of embarrassment crept into my mind, and I looked away not wanting to reveal the truth.

"_Kifah_."

"How do you get rid of nightmares?" I blurted out, my face burning in increased heat.

He blinked. "'Nightmares?'"

Slowly his eyebrows lifted in understanding, and he brought his arms back to his sides. "Usually a traumatic or very stressful event triggers them."

I scoffed. "No fooling?"

Shooting a soft glare, Tazim tried to elaborate, "Nightmares sometimes reflect your greatest fears worsened by events that happened in your life."

I immediately dismissed this explanation, "I haven't had a dream fueled by fear in six years."

Tazim paused in thought.

"Sometimes people with a guilty conscious also have nightmares, but the guilt must be rather strong to trigger such dreams." He looked at me questionably.

I shook my head. "Tazim, you know me enough by now. I do not regret killing."

"Well, _something_ is bothering you enough to cause your nightmares. I just don't know what it is, and you are either not willing to acknowledge it or acknowledge it to me. Perhaps both. But believe me, recognizing and admitting what is troubling you are the first steps to overcoming your nightmares."

My mouth and mind stayed silent. My strange friend sighed, knowing I would not reveal my troubles any further. His right gloved hand rose and rested on my shoulder. I finally turned my head back to Tazim, but I held my eye level forward, even with the metal triangular piece resting against his right breast.

Before now I never took the opportunity to study the badge. The other fake scholars wore them as well, signifying they and Tazim belong to the same guild. The faint symbol engraved in the metal is rather strange, though. It looks like a hybrid figure with the top of a triangle and the bottom of a circle.

Tazim lightly squeezed my left shoulder, bringing my attention back to him. "You did inform me of your nightmares; maybe that will ease your mind enough to allow you decent sleep. I will return and check on you in the morning," he bid farewell and released me, walking away to the exit.

I watched his form walk around the corner, out of sight, soon followed by the sounds of his running and climbing up the fountain and wall. I even heard him run off of the rooftop and jump out of hearing range.

Turning with my back so it faced the table, I leaned against it and crossed my arms. As much as I hate to admit it, Tazim is right. I am not having these persistent nightmares for no reason; something is bothering me.

But what?

**The Protector**

"'who judged the actions of man but allah? / man judges man just as allah judged / whether the right was theirs or not. / if a murderer kills a slaver / who is in the wrong? / he took the condemned to be turned into slaves. / he murdered the slaver for taking the condemned. / who is Admirable?'"

I chewed on my bottom lip after closing the book in my hand. This book is special, visibly different from the others on the outside and inside. Though the cover is composed of tight linen dyed white, the spine is wood painted red. The rest of Old-Man's books have wide, red marks of paint on their spines, distinguished from my books. I never understood the reason to brand personally owned books like that, but then again, Old-Man did a lot of things I could never understand.

His fear of names was at the top of the list. Ironically, that fear turned into an all out obsession over names. Long before he had taken me in, he had bought several books on toponymy and anthroponymy. Old-Man claimed that he could understand the meaning behind the names of any person he encountered. I asked if he would find out what my name meant, but he refused to find out and hit me until I lost consciousness for revealing my name _again_.

I lowered my gaze, melancholic nostalgia filling and causing ache to my stomach. Old-Man's murder happened two years after Mother's death; it all seemed a long time ago.

After I had fulfilled my blood lusting vengeance, I guess I finally accepted myself as an independent. When I was twelve years old, I was lucky. I was still small and did not experience my adolescent growth spurt until the next year, and I reminded Old-Man of his granddaughter.

No one, except the slave market and brothels, would accept a fourteen year old orphan with no inheritance. With no one else to take care of me, I looked back on my time with Mother and Old-Man for guidance. Because of Mother, I refused to be a whore. Because of Old-Man, I refused to be a slave. My time with Mother taught me that making and selling clothes by myself would not cut it. I decided to utilize the skills Old-Man taught me along with my natural talents and trained and bettered them before accepting my first assignment as an assassin-for-hire.

I had also decided to learn to read, which was even harder than when Old-Man taught me how to count to one hundred! But after several months, I persevered, and the first book I completely read through was _Arabian Anthroponymy_.

I had never been so disgusted. My real name and its meaning… What a sick joke! I was right to adopt Mother's name; it suited me better than _that_…

"Tazim. 'Honor and respect.'"

An eerie puzzling idea took over my mind, causing me to reopen the book to the poem I was reading. Unlike the other poem filled books, this was written by Old-Man himself. His handwriting was rather crude, and his grammar was mediocre. Even at a young age I could tell he did not have a creative personality. All of his poems were cryptic accounts of his life.

But he really loved reading and writing poetry.

"…'Admirable' is capitalized." I flipped through other pages, taking note of other random words that are capitalized. "…'Cross,' 'Death,' 'Protector'…" Returning to the first page, I began skimming the entire contents.

Not knowing or caring how much time had passed, I finally reached the last page. Out of all of the capitalized words, only two are names: Johara and Talal. Setting the book down, I got up from the floor and vaulted over the long table to reach the book shelf. Grabbing the thick anthroponymy book, I searched for those two names.

"Johara means jewel… Talal means nice or admirable. Admirable?"

Plopping the heavy book on the table, I vaulted back over, picked up Old-Man's poetic journal from the floor, and reread the two poems connected to the name.

"'who judged the actions of man but allah? / man judges man just as allah judged / whether the right was theirs or not. / if a murderer kills a slaver / who is in the wrong? / he took the condemned to be turned into slaves. / he murdered the slaver for taking the condemned. / who is _Talal_?'…" I flipped over thirty pages to the right. "'if a man believed / what he believed / while others he believed / were wrong in their beliefs / and did what he believed / was right, does he deserve / to be _Admirable_?'"

The sound of a vase falling and breaking startled me, and I heard a familiar masculine voice yell at why I had put a vase on the edge of the fountain. Woops; I had forgotten to put that away.

Tazim stomped into the main room and came to a halt in front of me. "I am sorry to inform you that you just lost a vase."

"Hm. It is still nice to see you again so soon. Speaking of which, why are you here? The sun has not even set." I tucked my coarse hair behind both of my ears after setting the book onto the table.

"I thought about it for a while and decided you are well enough to resume teaching me."

A smirk crept into view. "Oh? I don't need another four additional days to catch up on my sorry excuse for sleep?"

My independent student rolled his eyes at my sarcasm. "If it makes you feel any better, your complexion looks better."

Turning my chin, I teased, "You know, I could _easily_ misinterpret that as an insult."

"Please don't."

I giggled briefly at his response. "Thank you for coming over and letting me know."

Tazim nodded his head and left as soon as he came. Guess he is in a hurry…

My thick hair suddenly escaped from the confines of my ears and landed along my chest. Picking up a lock, I fiddled with it. It has grown quite a bit, twice its intended length actually.

_Ggggrrrruunnnnnngg._

Eyes immediately widened while simultaneously looking down to stare at my stomach. I am _really_ hungry!

Looking around the room, I located and equipped my black niqab from one of the dining chairs. Patting the sides of my hips, I verified my coin pouch and dagger were there before leaving the house.

Pulling myself onto the roof, for the first time my stomach did not erupt in pain. Half of the bruise had healed along with the bruise on my forehead. Standing on the rooftop in the blazing sun triggered my hand to rise and shield my eyes. Observing the shadows of the buildings pointing east revealed that it is late afternoon, maybe even early evening. Either way, time to eat shawarma!

Wearing leather boots again, I free-ran on top of the buildings until I spotted the market. Landing into a vacant alleyway, I approached the area and looked for the restaurant-stand. Despite all the smelly livestock and people crowding the market, the aroma of cooking food guided me. I got in line and waited patiently.

Finally reaching the front, the old man who owns the stand and cooks along side his sons asked what I wanted.

"Two shawarmas, please."

The silver-haired man froze for a few seconds before proceeding to fulfill my request.

_He recognized me. I wonder if that is good or bad..._

"Woman, did you know that last week there were guards patrolling everyday, desperately trying to find a woman who made and sold clothes?"

"Of course. However, I do not see any guards now."

Cutting up the various meats, the old man continued, "Rumors that the infamous white-robed assassin has returned attracted the guards' attention, increasing their focus on the rooftops."

I bowed in gratitude for the information. With his sons helping, my late lunch was prepared quickly, and I gratefully paid him extra before walking away to find a public garden. As I strolled through the streets of the Poor District, memories of Aram, the boys, and me playing together and getting into trouble ghosted into existence.

"_Archer, you can't hit me!" Latif yelled while running alongside Fahkir, Ihtisham, and Ishaq._

Hidden around a corner is the entry way to a private garden, which works just as well as a public garden. I entered, glad that no one else was present and sat down on the low bench.

_Aram struggled to breathe while running behind me, trying to catch up. "A-As-As-WAIT!" Ignoring her, I continued sprinting after the boys and took out a handful of pebbles from my sash._

The first shawarma was unwrapped and taken into my mouth.

_Several men yelled, cursing us as we ran past them, barely dodging them but still making them lose their composure. Aram, completely winded, stayed behind again to distract and apologize profusely to the men for her "brothers'" behavior. _

_(At the time, Aram was tall and ugly enough to pretend to be an older preadolescent boy. The same could not be said for me, but I always managed to run away fast enough before anyone could discern what gender I was.)_

I crumbled up the empty paper case. One more delicious shawarma to go.

_As the boys approached a clearing, I skidded on my bare feet to a halt and aimed at my friends' backs. Before they could turn to run in a different direction, I rapidly threw the pebbles, each hitting somewhere on their backsides._

_They yelled out, pretending to be in pain as if the pebbles were arrows before dramatically falling to the ground. _

"_AW! She got us- NOOO!" Ishaq whined._

"_I'm DYYYYYiinng…"_

_Fakhir, who sat up on the dirty ground, rolled his eyes at his little brother's bad acting. "Latif, just die."_

_His face brightened at his big brother's command. "Okay! Blegh," he head tipped over._

_Ihtisham laughed. I lightly jogged to the boys and picked up the thrown stones with a tiny, embarrassed smile._

With my stomach contently full, I cautiously checked the entrance to make sure no one was walking near it. Hearing no footsteps, I pulled off my black veil and equipped my dagger. I grabbed all of my hair together in a tight fist behind my neck. Bringing up the Syrian steel, I breathed deeply. This is going to hurt.

Not giving myself time to think about it, I positioned the dagger's blade under my grouped hair and pushed it up against the strands while my other hand pulled my hair hard against the blade. I winced, and my eyes quickly watering. To speed up the process, I moved the dagger back and forth, gradually cutting through my thick hair.

Finally, I felt no force against my weapon, and I brought my right hand before me, holding almost a foot long of hair. Not really sure what to do with it, I placed it under the bench before hiding my short blade in my dress. While I stood, I ran my hands through my once again short hair. Feeling my fingers exit and touch my bare neck still surprised me.

I retrieved my niqab and pulled it over my tendered head in time to enter the open street. With no more business to take care of, I charged towards the nearby building and ran up the wall, quickly grabbing the edge of the rooftop before my body would fall. My feet pushed, scaling upwards until my knees reached the edge. From there, my body simply rolled over into a squat, and I gracefully stood up, sprinted, and leapt onto another building.

Not ten minutes passed before I saw a Saracen archer surveying the rooftops. Cursing, I immediately thought of changing my route so I could avoid him. The guard equipped his bow from his back and brought an arrow to rest against the string. This enticed my curiosity, and my feet slowed to a stalk as I came around several additional rooms on the roof. Peaking around the corner, the guard's right side faced me, and he suddenly brought up his bow and drew back the arrow. Peering around even further, I followed the direction of the aiming arrow towards a minaret at least forty yards away.

I raised a confused eyebrow. Just what was so alarming about it- What… the fuck…

_THAT SUICIDAL FUCKING IDIOT!_

Dashing from my hiding spot, I sprinted towards the archer and tackled him to the ground. Though he fired the arrow from my impact, it was terribly off course and missed Tazim climbing up the prayer tower.

"Son of a bitch! Get off of me!"

Before the guard could react further, I slid out my dagger and stabbed him in the eye. "Okay." Pushing myself to stand over his body, my blade slid out of the dead man's head.

I looked back towards the tower and saw the assassin crouching on the tower's perch. Though his body faced south, his head turned to look at me. I waved my unarmed hand at him.

Tazim seemed to acknowledge my actions and carefully crept forward to the edge. He leaped and soon went out of sight as he fell down the other side of the mosque.

Shaking my head, wondering why anyone would do something that extreme, I proceeded to clean my dagger on the guard's pants. If Tazim continues doing dangerous stunts like that he is going to get himself killed. My armed hand paused. I just saved Tazim… No, that is not necessarily true. The guard could have been a terrible shot for all I know, but I still made an attempt to protect his life.

_WHAT?!_

Done wiping the blood from the dagger, I placed it back in its sheath. That cannot be right. If Tazim dies or just goes away, I can finally return to being a mercenary. That is what I have striving for this entire time!

I gripped my head which began to painfully ache. Maybe I killed the guard because… because… because I want to be the one to kill Tazim! Yeah, that's it! Either I take Tazim out of my life, or he gets out of my life.

The sharp pain subsided significantly, but the dull feeling remained. I lowered my eyes. _That is how it should be... right?_

**The Protector**

As he had promised, I returned to teaching Tazim how to throw knives. At least, as much as one can teach another who already throws knives how to use them more accurately and precise. The young man's competitiveness aided his progress for the last three weeks, but he is still no where close to successfully counter throwing.

Kneeling down, I studied his five wooden targets. The first four were completely used up, covered in countless holes that testified to the assassin's training. The fifth one just started today, and the circle the holes accumulated is about eleven inches in circumference. Definitely an improvement!

Meanwhile, Tazim is staring at my one wooden board. It too is covered in holes but in a very different pattern. There are seven small holes that reached through the thick board, created by my knives hitting the same spots over and over again.

I felt waves of reignited determination flow from the assassin.

"_No_. We are done for the day; don't even think about it!"

Tazim grabbed my extended hand, pulling me up to stand. "I sincerely hope you realize how talented your marksmanship is for a nineteen year old woman."

I smirked, "Twenty."

He raised an eyebrow. "When?"

"The day I saved your precious hide from an arrow."

Suddenly, my student smiled and quickly brought his hand to my clothed head and tussled it.

"Hey!" I protested, slapping his hand away.

"Maybe now you will start behaving like an adult."

"Oh, like you?" I pulled back my mask and combed my hair.

His smile turned into a smirk. "Yes," he answered and pulled on the black cloth for me.

We gathered the targets and throwing knives, placing them back into my large bag. Tazim still carried it, and though he had memorized the way already, he followed behind me back to my house.

Jumping down, I gracefully landed on the floor on my feet and hands. Turning and standing up, I caught the bag Tazim let down and stepped back to allow him to come in.

He followed me into the main room, and after I set down the equipment, he immediately pulled up my right sleeve. Thankfully the brushed cotton was tight enough to stay bunched up at my shoulder without assistance. I looked over it to inspect the stitches. The long gashes had finally closed into red, fleshy scars, and thanks to Tazim, the skin was no longer inflamed. However, it will take more months for the tissue damage under the surface to fully heal.

Taking out one of his throwing knives, Tazim cut the stitches and carefully pulled them out. I grimaced. That looked and felt… creepy.

Placing the bloody thread on the discarded bandages, he poured the healing oil on and wrapped fresh bandages around my arm.

"Thank you, _doctor_."

"Technically, I am an assistant, but you are welcome."

I grew somewhat intrigued at this new information and opened my mouth to question him, but a yawn snuck through. Tazim frowned slightly.

"You are still having trouble at night."

"Don't get your pants in a twist over it. I'm still adjusting to four hours of sleep." I gingerly rubbed my eyes.

"Am I going to have to read you to bed?"

Pointing to the great bookcase, I sarcastically suggested, "Take your pick." To my surprise he actually approached the books. "Uh, Tazim, I was joking."

"All of these are yours, correct?"

I raised a confused eyebrow at his suddenly serious tone. "Yeah." Tazim began rearranging the books, especially Old-Man's books. "What are you doing?"

"Be quiet," he hissed.

Reluctantly I obeyed and pulled down my sleeve while watching him do… whatever he is trying to accomplish. I plopped down on a dining chair and waited patiently.

Slowly my eyes widened, realizing what Tazim is doing. He is making a picture using the red markings on the spines of Old-Man's books, and that picture became more obvious by the second.

Two minutes later, the assassin stepped back to reveal a hauntingly familiar red cross. There is no way… I tried to convince myself it was a coincidence, but the intricate curves of the cross are too perfect. They match with the emblems of the Crusaders.

I looked at Tazim's form, his back still facing me. I could taste the seeping malice.

"Kifah, I am going to ask you a question, and you better tell me the truth."

My left hand twitched towards the open slits in my tunic, but I controlled my defensive instincts.

Tazim finally turned to me, his fists clenching; he looks like he is ready to murder.

"Are you a Templar?"

Memories wracked violently against my mind, causing me to unwillingly clutch my head.

_Templar... Knights... The war ended when I was an infant, but Acre remained under the Crusaders' rule. Acre... My birthplace! Mother-_

I forced my eyes open; my breathing had increased. I do not know what memory was trying to resurface. In fact, I could not recognize it all, so it must be very, very bad…

Tazim was still there, waiting for my answer. His homicidal expression had not faltered.

"No."

"You LIAR!" The snarling assassin yelled, stepping forward and extending his hidden blade. "HOW DO YOU EXPLAIN THAT?!" His right hand pointed towards the books.

_They belonged to Old-Man. Was he- But- He was a low class thief!... Who knew how to read and write... and free-run... and use a bow and arrow..._

My head lulled back and forth. "Oh, God, I'm going to be sick!"

"You and me both," Tazim hissed and drew back his left hand. He jumped.

I caught his left wrist, barely keeping the tip of the blade away from my neck. My arms immediately began to shake, struggling to exert all of my strength against Tazim. FUCK!

I pushed his arm away while dashing to the right, away from him. Acting on instinct, I ran into the hallway and climbed up to the rooftop, closely followed by Tazim. I stood on the edge of the roof, and a powerful hand grabbed my ankle and pulled. I tripped then turned to see Tazim's grip on me. My other foot failed to successfully kick him, and he reached the rooftop and quickly straddled my waist, keeping my back pinned to the concrete.

"I'M NOT A FUCKING TEMPLAR!" I struggled to get him off.

"I have had enough of your lies!"

"Those cock-sucking heretics destroyed my family! Why would I become one?!"

Tazim leaned down, pushing his right forearm against my windpipe to silence me. "You are an ill woman, filled with blood lust and complete disregard for the benefit of society. All you think about is yourself and how to make yourself comfortable in this life. You are a murderer, and you are good at it!"

Suddenly, his deadly look became sullen. "Even if you are not a Templar, you are dangerous. Maybe not to the Order but to any innocent person with a price on their head."

My left fist connected with the assassin's temple. The blow stunned him enough to allow me to thrust my body upward and push him off. I quickly crawled backwards, away from him and stood up with my right hand gripping the hilt of my sword.

"THAT IS WHAT THIS IS ABOUT?! MY _MORALS_?!"

Tazim recovered from my punch and slowly stood up, eyeing the sword I am threatening to wield.

"You know what: fuck you, fuck _your_ morals, and fuck your guild or Order or whatever the fuck it is! I cannot imagine what you were thinking when you came into my life, but I just want you to know that you wasted your fucking time. I murdered young boys in front of their fathers before murdering them in front of their wives and daughters in the name of revenge when I was fourteen years old; I murdered random city guards when I felt the urge to kill; and I still want to murder because IT KEEPS AWAY THE NIGHTMARES!"

Tazim's eyes widened from appall and disgust.

"…I hoped you were doing it for the money, but I was wrong."

Pity. I saw a flash of _pity_.

The sound of sliding metal brought my attention to Tazim's right arm wielding his sword. My grip on my hilt tightened in fear for my life.

"Kifah, this is the only chance my duty will permit me to give you: change or die."

My lower eyelids lifted. "Tazim, I cannot."

Sparks erupted when I managed to extract my sword from its sheath in time to block the assassin's strike. Before I could recover, he struck again with more force. I nearly lost my balance but side-stepped to avoid another attack. My arms were granted a few seconds of rest before Tazim charged again. I deflected his sword to the right and freed my left hand to quickly punch the side of his face.

Although my attack connected, it failed to faze him. Tazim's right hand grabbed my left hand and twisted it while maneuvering behind me. I cried out from the strain on my arm. Suddenly, I felt a powerful kick to my back while my arm was freed. I involuntarily released my sword and stumbled forward to hit the rooftop's floor, winded and coughing. Hearing the assassin approach, I turned onto my back and quickly rolled over, dodging a strike. I managed to rise into a squat before Tazim swung again, and I leapt away and swiftly kicked under his legs, causing him to fall backwards. I took this chance to grab my sword, and my recovered opponent and I rose and took our stances.

I charged first, swinging my sword forward. Tazim's white sword swung forward in the same direction, about to stop and collide with my blade. But it did not stop my blade. It kept moving, cutting through my sword and coming straight for my neck. I ducked, my vision flashing white. My right arm thrust the broken sword forward and upward as hard as it could.

Tazim's eyes widened and looked down at what I had done.

* * *

**sesshomaruisfluffypuppy:** _Thank you! The timeline will be revealed in a few chapters._

**Lunatic Glare:** _Thank you very much for your reviews! Since I got your 2nd review after Ch.1-6 have been posted, I'll take your advice and try to describe what's going on in this chapter with more detail and see how I did._

_The action scenes are going to be trickier, since depending on what's going on I need them to be semi-dragging or fast paced. Oh, speaking of action scenes- that idea's potential for hilarity is too great to pass up. Despite Kifah's skills and personality and the culture (seriously those robes almost reach the feet) I'm going to make that happen (later)!_


	8. Redemption

**The following chapter contains the historically accurate attitudes of Arabs towards Africans during the Middle Ages. Realistically, if Altair or the other Assassins actually existed, even they would think of Africans as sub-humans. The Islamic view on the black race does not reflect my views and opinions.**

* * *

Tazim's eyes widened and looked down at what I had done.

Seven inches of steel were buried deep into his left breast.

The loud clangs of Tazim's sword and the upper half of mine landing on the rooftop broke my adrenaline fueled daze. I saw his entire body shudder before his knees buckled. I instinctively grabbed his sides to keep him from falling, but the rationale of my mind had forgotten about his physique. Grunting at the struggle to support his weight, I could not stop his lower half from hitting the ground, but my left hand moved in time and caught the back of his covered head while my right hand supported near the top of his back, allowing his upper body to lie down gently while leaning over his right side.

Coming down from the adrenaline rush, my brain acknowledged the sight of his chest rising and falling rather dramatically. Tazim managed to heave a small laugh. "I-_gkeh_-never thought my strength could be used against me," he revealed, staring at the sky.

My eyes widened, looking down at my sword's handle and blade sticking out of him. Enough blood had gathered and started flowing down the side onto the ground and filling the air with the smell of iron. I cannot believe it.

Filled with urgency, my hands reached for his pouches and patted around his waist. Not even sure why, I found and took out Tazim's metal bottle and opened it. My right hand moved to pour it as close to his wound as possible (I dared not pull out the sword), but Tazim's left hand quickly gripped my wrist to stop the motion.

"I am in enough pain. Don't make it worse," he lightly coughed with a closed mouth. "Besides… that is not going to help."

"Then drink it! It should dull the pain."

His eyes widened, his grip tightening excessively and causing me to wince. "NO! This kind of alcohol is not drinkable. It is a poison."

"What?" I personally have never drunk before, but Old-Man did on occasion. It certainly did not kill him!

The pain suddenly showed clearly on Tazim's face for several seconds before he continued. "Listen… If you pour alcohol into a wound and it does not burn, you can drink it. If the alcohol does burn, then do not drink it. It _will_ kill you that way." His face contorted again, and he released me.

His labored breathing increased, and he closed his eyes trying to force his body to relax.

I stared at him. The shock overtook me first before the confusion. My mouth opened, several seconds passing before words finally tumbled out.

"What is _wrong_ with you?!" My outburst caused his eyes to open and stare inquisitively at me. "I just _killed_ you! And-and you warn me about toxic alcohol?! Wh-uh-why- You… stupid FUCK!" Tossing the bottle away, I fisted the front of his robe above the leather straps. I cannot pull him up though; I just want him to make sense!

"We spent six months together! I-I am not that- If you had just murdered me when you had the chance or just left me the fuck alone, you'd still be alive! Dumb fucking-"

Tazim's right hand had rose at some point and was tugging my niqab. I quickly pulled it back for him in frustration so I could resume my rant.

"And you're more skilled than I am at fucking _sword fighting_, and I _won_! What the fuck, Tazim?! How could you lose to the likes of me-"

His hand maneuvered to the base of my head and swiftly pulled me towards his rising head in a gentle kiss.

My eyes widened. I ignored my hands losing their grip on his robe and the red flush forming on my face. I'm dead-

He broke it, leaning back while releasing a violent cough. Drops of blood hit my face, and noticing his teeth covered in blood added to my frozen state. He wiped the blood trailing from his mouth with the back of his left hand, but all it really did was smear it.

"Sorry," he voiced after the heaving lessened, resting his head back on his hood embarrassed. When he had lifted his head, the hood slipped off revealing his dark hair in a short cropped cut.

_I'm not dead..._

I finally overcame my shock. "You kissed me."

Tazim raised a weak eyebrow. "Yes, I did."

"_No_."

"Kifah, I'm dying. There is no time for us to argue-"

"You should hate me and be trying to get revenge while you still can!" I set my hands on opposite sides of his shoulders. "Not fucking _kiss_ me! What is wrong with you?!" I asked again.

My eyes widened further upon seeing tears brim at the side of his eyes. Voice considerably softened, I tentatively called his name.

"I'm _twenty_, Kifah." He quickly covered another bloody cough before continuing, "I don't want to die. There are so many things I want to do… So many people I am leaving behind."

His right hand rose to wipe away his blood off of my face, but I could feel that it had dried and would not change its formation. Tazim realized this and gave up, returning his arm to his side.

"My brothers and sisters are cared for; I am not real worried about them. But you don't have any family or friends, right?" He gave a sincerely concerned look.

I forced down a choke. Where did that come from? "What does it matter? I'm use to being alone," I tried to dismiss that look.

"Heh. That does not mean you like it," he retorted weakly and began to shake.

Recognizing this sign, I could not stop myself from wrapping my arms around his torso and carefully lying on him. I rested my head on his right shoulder, staring at the sword in him.

"What did you say?" Tazim asked in disbelief.

I blinked and tilted my head up to look at him. "I didn't say anything."

I don't know why, but he smiled in response. "Kifah-" Another cough interrupted him, soon followed by more. He covered his mouth with his free hand, still coughing, and blood seeped past his fingers.

The sight caused me to cringe. Tazim does not deserve to suffer like this… I glanced at my sword buried in his breast. I know if I pull it out, he will die quickly, but I can't bring myself to do it. _FUCK!_

His coughing finally died down, but his labored breathing increased despite my weight on him.

My hands fisted tightly on his clothes. This is way too slow!

But this is the last time, the last chance I can talk to him.

"I… I forgive you." I whispered, "For trying to kill me… Every time."

Tazim's left hand cupped the left side of my face, and I was expecting his hidden blade to kill me. But the blade never came. Tazim tilted my head to return my gaze to him.

"I forgive you too, Kifah."

Overwhelming pain and ache erupted in my chest, causing me to flinch. I shook my head and looked down. Tazim's palm tried to push me to look at him again, but he was too weak by now for it to work. "No!"

"Kifah, look at me."

"No!"

"I forgive you."

My fists tightened so much my knuckles turned white. "Damn it," I hissed and shut my eyes while hiding against his chest.

Tazim did not respond. I felt his hand slip away and his right arm struggling to move from under me. Opening my eyes, I sat up to get off of him. Tazim's breathing started to falter, but his chest kept shaking.

"Listen… and look carefully," he muttered, another stream of blood falling from his mouth's left corner.

His profusely sweating head motioned towards his lifted left arm. It turned so the palm faced upward, revealing a thick piece of metal nearly the length of the vambrace itself strapped to the underside. A thinly cut line down the middle revealed the piece of metal to be hollow, containing another metal piece. The bottom half of the outermost metal was covered by more metal, strangely shaped and placed, connecting to a large metal wheel. The wheel contained three parts with the bottom part wider than the rest. The smaller parts barely stuck out further on top of the wider parts, and the top and smallest wheel contained a tiny hole in the middle.

Tazim slowly stretched back his wrist, causing the hidden blade to reveal itself slowly with a low resonating ring. The metal piece contained in the outermost metal piece slid out, but to my surprise it had a cut indent as well. A third metal piece slid out of it, this one actually whole and having the tip of a blade. While the entire blade mechanism extracted, the middle wheel was turning to the right slowly, matching in speed. Once Tazim curled in his wrist the blade disappeared back into the hollow pieces while the middle wheel spun in the opposite direction, only sounding what I guessed were the mechanisms behind the hidden blade. His freed right hand moved to the large three-part wheel and tapped at the hole.

"If you stick two thin enough metal sticks inside and jiggle them, it will unlock the mechanism and allow the hidden blade to be taken apart. We usually do that for cleaning," Tazim flinched before coughing up more blood.

I gently held the nape of his neck, my fingers combing through the sweaty hair while gripping his right hand. Eventually his coughing subsided, making his struggle to breathe more evident. I gazed at his brown eyes, the tiny round tears still refusing to spill.

"Your people are going to come after me," I realized.

Tazim slowly blinked as his face paled. "Yes," he whispered.

"You don't want them to avenge you," I mouthed still in disbelief.

I felt his grip tighten desperately around my hand. "I want them to e…_nnh_-"

Tazim's neck and limbs slacked and he stopped shaking. I stared into his dead eyes and noticed the released tears disappear on his skin.

I want to voice his name, but I know better.

Bringing my right hand to his face, my thumb and ring finger caught his eyelids and pushed them down, closing his eyes. I kept his head lifted and pulled up and over the hood, covering his head that I saw for the first and last time.

Releasing his body, I looked around the rooftop. The alcohol canteen had spilled its contents a few feet away near the upper half of my broken sword. Tazim's long blade had fallen a foot away from us. I frowned. If my sword was no longer useless I would take it back, but this is not the case. I rose to stand and claimed Tazim's sword, sliding it into my scabbard.

A sudden movement in the distance in my peripheral vision caught my attention. I quickly turned my head and caught a low ranked fake scholar jump down from a building, out of sight.

That's right. I killed one of their assassins.

I looked at Tazim's corpse and remembered his stubbornness. They are going to hunt me down to the edges of the world.

I pulled my mask back on and jumped back down the rooftop entrance into my house. I have to leave Jerusalem _now_.

As I entered the living room, the large red Templar cross insulted my vision, making me fight the urge to vomit. Clenching my teeth, questions about Old-Man flooded my mind again. I cannot fathom him being a Templar.

Moving to my bedroom I gathered large traveling bags and started packing.

Sadly, I do not know enough about Old-Man to say with certainty whether he was a Templar or not. I remember figuring out that he served as a slave briefly, no more than a year. For all I know his master could have been a Crusader during the war. Even if that was the case, why would he make such a notorious design using his prized books? Why the effort if he hated the Crusaders?

One bag became full with my civilian clothes. Digging around my piles of cloths I searched for Old-Man's weapon. I have not seen it for a few years.

Where the fuck am I going to go? I have stayed in Jerusalem for the last fourteen years; I am not familiar with any other place. Then again, Acre is where I was born_-_

Piercing pain drilled through my head, causing me to stop what I was doing. "FUCK!" I screamed in agony.

_A little girl cried in fear as the big man yanked her out of her mother's arms. The mother yelled in protest, earning a slap from another corrupt man._

"_Ferme-la, pute sarrasine!"_

"_Leave my daughter alone!" The guard still wearing his nearly full-faced helmet grabbed the woman and shook her into silence._

"_Your husband did not heed our warning, and now you and your daughter must pay for what he owes. Blame him for your suffering," his thick, muffled accent barely made him understandable._

_The mother widened her eyes in horror. They were going to sell her and her baby. _

"_NON!" She pleaded in their language to prove her desperation and gripped the man's plaited arm. __"Je ferai tout ce que vous voulez! Il suffit de laisser ma fille seule!"_

_Another guard stepped forward at her proposition. "'Tout ce que?'"_

_The whimpering sounds of the little girl echoed through the ruined household. Her mother gulped, fresh sweat trailing down her neck in fearful anticipation._

"_Quoi que." The soldiers grabbed her._

My forehead slammed against the nearest wall, finally breaking my conscious away from the memory. I staggered backward and landed on my rear with my heart beat thumping in my ears. "Okay, I get it; Acre is a bad idea!" I spoke to myself, rather shocked from the flashback.

I completely forgot Mother spoke French.

Rubbing my aching head, I got on my knees and resumed searching for Old-Man's weapon. This day is _absolutely_ fucked up!

A small site of fading tan leather stood out amongst the colorful cloths piled in the back of the bedroom. I dashed towards the source and delved, grabbing the leather package's cord and strap and pulling it free from the pile. The leather bag that has been protecting the weapon from exposure is four feet long and wide yet flat, but the weapon itself is very slender and only three feet and three inches long if memory serves. Crawling on my knees I made my way to the pile of pillows that make up my bed. I set the entire package down, unfolded the leather, and pulled off the protective cloth, revealing rich brown wood, two rolled up strings, and a black leather quiver containing only five arrows.

I could have sworn there were more.

My fingers traced the spine, recollections of my first assassinations emerging.

Avenging Old-Man's murder had cost quite a bit of health. Most of my scars were wounds received in fights with the guards and their sons. Every single one of them got infected. The time and rest needed to recover combined with the fact I had no teacher for the ways of assassination led me to decide to kill targets as far away as possible, at least until I got the hang of it.

Unfortunately, Old-Man never taught me how to use the composite bow. He refused. So, I had to perfect my infiltrative abilities on the job while getting close enough to my targets for them to be within striking distance of my throwing knives. Focus combined with adrenaline gives wondrous boosts to learning…

I wrapped the leather folds around the clothed unstrung weapon and tied the attached cord around the package to keep it securely closed. This has too much worth to leave behind.

I moved to my drawer and pulled opened the bottom. I tossed away the rags covering the hidden worth: a burlap sack full of dinars and dirhams. Heaving, I barely managed to pull it out and drop it onto the floor. Very tired I ungracefully sat on the floor behind it. There is no way I can carry all of that to… wherever the fuck I am going. And I do not know how to ride a horse. I will have to rent a carriage and driver.

_Keep moving!_

Reaching behind me to grab an empty bag, I transferred a third of my savings into the bag and set it next to the clothes-filled one. Rising to a squat, I lifted the still heavy sack of wealth while standing up and cursed, "Son of a bitch!"

I quickly moved to the desk in the main chamber and set down the sack on it. Waiting a few seconds to catch my breath, I equipped my dagger and climbed on top of the desk, standing on it. I faced the brick wall and forced the dagger between the seams of rather high placed bricks, slowly loosening them.

Too much time passed, but I eventually loosened and pulled out the last brick needed so I could hide my blood money. _Keep moving!_ I grabbed the sack and pushed it into the new hole in the wall. Thank Allah it fits! Much faster this time I pushed the outer bricks back into place. Unfortunately, I am not sure what to do with the spare inner bricks…

Sighing I returned to the bedroom, grabbed another empty bag, and returned to the bricks to pack them. Maybe I can sell them along the way.

Once that was done, I pulled my niqab back while walking to the entrance hallway. I picked a random water jar and uncorked it. I took a deep breath and stuck my head in. When I ran out of air I lift my head and proceeded washing Tazim's blood from my face, but I avoided my lips.

_I still cannot believe that happened. Why? I mean, why? It was bound to happen eventually, and it's not the most impossible kill I've ever made. I'm a cunt and deserve to die- _My hands froze on my cheeks.

_Where did that come from?!_

I splashed on more water, but the destructive thoughts kept going this time.

_After all he did for me, I killed him- He deserved it- No, he didn't- I owe him for saving my life _twice_, but he did blackmail me- And he taught me and cared for me- He left me just like everyone else- I killed him- His people are going to kill me! I need to leave- I am such an ungrateful shit! No, I'm not- I murdered my friend- He wasn't- I killed Mother too-_NO!_ THAT'S NOT- She starved herself to death so I could _eat- _I DIDN'T KNOW-I-I- Endanger everybody that takes care of you- I DIDN'T KILL THEM; I JUST SURVIVED! Selfish, so selfish; not a protector at all- STOP IT! _I'M SORRY!

My eyes finally opened, my voice hitching following my confessions. I starred at my reflection in the water of the jar my head was still leaning over and blinked. Liquid gathered to the tip of my nose and fell in droplets hitting the water, rippling and ruining the image.

"_I forgive you."_

More droplets fell in succession. Leaning backwards, I landed on my rear with my lower back touching the wall. I brought my knees up, wrapped my arms around them, and hid my face against them.

More breaths hitched, turning into hiccups then turning into light sobs.

**The Protector**

"Hey, young man, we're here. Wake up," a low wispy voice commanded.

My eyes shot open only to close again from the sight of the sun. I shielded my eyes this time before opening them, allowing them to adjust to the light. My voice was already gruff from just waking up, but I lowered my pitch to match my disguise. I thanked the driver for alerting me and was inwardly grateful he woke me up before I could experience another nightmare.

When the horses reached the outskirts of the city, their owner pulled on their reins for them to stop. I jumped out of the passenger seat and walked to the back of the carriage, grabbing my bags. During the trip I wore Old-Man's bow and quiver on my back as minute exercise. Also, its presence and Tazim's sword's presence made bandits think twice about attacking.

I suppressed a groan at the added weight of my traveling bags on my shoulders. Having all of my belongings, I reached inside the bag containing pure coins and gave one dinar to the driver.

"Remember our agreement."

The older man bit it between his few teeth then smiled. "I never met you."

He put the gold in his clothes before slapping the reins. The horses walked forward then were guided to turn around and return to Jerusalem as if this trip never happened.

I looked at the back of the carriage for a few seconds. Somehow I get the feeling I should learn how to ride a horse when I can…

Turning around I faced the southern entrance to the city. There are eight soldiers guarding the entrance. Sighing, I walked to the right until I was out of their sight. Unfortunately, that put me in the middle of the outer market, but thankfully everyone ignored me for the most part.

Kneeling down I set my bags on the ground along with my open weapons. I untied and unraveled the leather holder and placed the bow and quiver inside, wrapping the protective cloth around the bow. I was about to fold everything closed when I realized that Tazim's sword is short enough to fit alongside the bow. I couldn't help but smile at the convenience.

After those weapons were concealed, I stood up and carried the bags on my shoulders again while I had to carry the leather package on my back. Hopefully my upper body will not break before I find a place to rent. I walked back to the entrance and past the guards, avoiding eye contact though I could feel them eyeing me and my belongings suspiciously.

I continued walking, looking around at the foreign territory and building placements. The people in the facility look decent, and the buildings are in good condition. I think I'm in the Middle District.

Wandering around I finally found some market stands and asked an owner where I could rent homes in the Poor District.

"Young man, you would have better luck renting a house here. The Poor District is packed and very busy!"

"Really?" That is unexpected.

"You are new here; I see this… Oh!" the bearded man reached for something behind his stand. "I've been passing these fliers out for my brother-in-law the last few days. Maybe this will help you," he handed the paper to me.

Grabbing it, I mentally read, _Five room house for rent in the cluster half of a mile south of the Sarouja Souk. Rent is ninety-three dirhams every month to Sahl Bulus._

I looked back at the man, raising an eyebrow even though my mask mostly conceals it. "Do I look like I am rolling in riches?"

"To be honest, no. I'll take it back-" I pulled the paper out of his reach. "So, you _can_ afford it."

Ignoring his sly smile, I asked, "Where is Market Sarouja?"

"Sarouja Souk is the greatest market in the Holy Lands, located in the Rich District! And it is very large; you cannot miss it."

"And why would I want to live near there?"

"Young man, there are only two markets in Damascus. The second one is Souk Al-Silaah in the Poor District, and they are very far away from each other. And like I said, you will have better luck renting a place anywhere _but_ the Poor District."

"I see… What about here?"

"The Middle District is rather full as well, my friend."

I narrowed my eyes. "You're just trying to help your brother-in-law's pocket."

The man grinned impishly. "Would you like to buy anything?"

Inwardly scowling, my curiosity still got the better of me, and I looked down at what he is selling. Stones?

"Uh, maybe later. Mind pointing me in the direction of the Rich District?" His forefinger pointed northwest. "Thank you very much."

The stand owner kept smiling. "It has been a pleasure, friend."

A few hours passed before I finally entered the Rich District. Even if I end up residing there, I saw many things I like in the Middle District. So many formal gardens, men of wisdom, and places of knowledge! I left all of my books in Jerusalem, even Old-Man's journal. The libraries will probably become my new hang outs. I will have to be careful around those scholars though…

The first thing I noticed in the Rich District was the extravagant buildings and homes. The second thing I noticed was the large front of a palace covering many blocks, surrounded by a high gate and guards. Who the fuck lives there?

I continued sight-seeing, asking the locals where I could find Sahl Bulus and about the marvelous constructs. Apparently, Saladin is buried near the Umayyad Mosque. That huge palace belongs to Sitt Al-Sham even though her son resides there, not her. Saladin's old Citadel belongs to Amir Mankawar, a Sheikh who served him during the war. I do not particularly care about these facts, but now I know why there are so many fucking guards in this area!

I quietly smacked my forehead as self-inflicting punishment. _Relax! You're not here to kill anyone, yet. You need to avoid Tazim's colleagues. The guards can actually benefit you this time._

Taking in a deep breath, I entered the home I was standing in front of. The door was open after all.

A man knelt in the middle of the first room, surrounded by pillows. Realizing he is praying, I waited patiently for him to finish. He lifted his turban covered head, revealing a very wrinkled face and tight dry skin. Opening his grey eyes, he did not seem surprised to see me. Before he could say anything I held the flier before me.

"Go away," his harsh voice commanded.

"Has someone already taken your offer?"

"No. You are rude and a sore in my eyes. Go away!"

"Does your wife know you use a hookah?"

The man looked amused at my question. "Why does that matter? Even if I do, she cannot do anything about it."

"Isn't smoking tobacco forbidden?"

"Of course, boy. All Muslims know this," the husband leaned back against some pillows. "But only those who use a hookah can tell when someone else has used one."

I smirked. "Well, unlike you I have not smoked in years. You would be surprised how much money one saves after quitting."

He paused for a moment then motioned with his right hand for me to come. I gladly set my bags down and rolled my shoulders discreetly before joining the man on the floor.

"I am Sahl Bulus, boy. I need ninety-three silver coins up front for you to use my extra house next- Ah, next month will come in four days. Hm… Settling in early will not be a problem if…"

"'If?'" I repeated impatiently.

"If you give me some tobacco."

My face scrunched. "You tell me where I can get it, and it will be done today."

"Glad we understand each other. Now, if you wish to rent the house for another month, you can pay at the end of that month instead of the beginning."

Pulling out my pouch, I counted and handed the money to the landlord.

He paused, studying the money in his hand. "I have never encountered someone so rude with this much money. Tell me your name, boy."

Oh, uh-

"Mahir," I blurted the first name that came to mind.

The unhealthy man laughed dryly.

"The house is next door on the left. Don't come here again until you have the tobacco."

My eyebrows knitted. "You said you were going to tell me where I could get it for you."

He shrugged dismissively. "You said you have used a hookah before. You should know how to find it then."

My mask hid my frustration. This man is playing with me.

"Fine."

I turned around, gathered my belongings despite my protesting shoulders, and walked out. Taking a left turn, I spotted the rental home, opened the door, and entered. As expected, it was empty- well, of people.

I wandered around and discovered the place consists of a living room, a kitchen, two bedrooms (with real beds with _mattresses_), and a private bathing room much to my delighted surprise. The savings will hide in the cooking pot since it is not like I am going to use it. The sword and composite bow will be under the unoccupied bed.

After concealing them, I unpacked my clothes in my bedroom and wondered where this city's whore-houses are located. They should have hookahs for their costumers.

Stopping before the front door, I hesitated to leave. This house also has a back door and five medium-to-large sized windows. All opportunities for thieves. And assassins.

_Breathe in... breathe out..._

This house does not belong to me, so I cannot make the precautions I would like. Also, if religious and clan bound assassins have half of the skill level the underground community claims they possess, they _will_ come in here. Fuck- they probably already have broken the rooftop entrance's lock and ransacked my home!

My first encounter with Tazim rushed through my mind while I pulled open the door.

_I am ready-_

_If only _one_ assassin comes._

**The Protector**

Leisure free-running proved to be more achievable here than in Jerusalem. Ground patrol is more stressed while there are barely any archers on the rooftops outside of the Rich District. Overall outside of the Rich District, Damascus is more infiltrative than Jerusalem! This discovery along with being in an unfamiliar city added to my wariness.

To my disbelief, there are no brothels in that district (or none that I have found). The Middle District was as seemingly clean, leading me to search in the very cramped Poor District. Holy shit, that merchant was not exaggerating! Never before have I preferred the rooftops more than the streets.

Leaning against a watch tower, I gazed at the far away streets while my peripheral vision and ears remained alert for archers per habit. There are so many people walking around in my limited view that it is hard to follow, much less find, any patterns of suspicious men traveling in the same direction.

The tower reminded me of witnessing Tazim's miraculous leap. I frowned and looked up at the tall structure. I suppose one would get a grand view to investigate from that height, assuming you could actually see far enough to distinguish between a man and a woman. Stepping back so not to lean against the tower anymore, I hesitated again. I have never climbed that high before.

But he did it so nonchalantly…

My left hand touched a possible grip-hold, but it recoiled away while I flinched as if the action burned me.

I can't do it! I… I can't. Just- can't.

I walked to the edge of the roof and jumped down, landing on both feet and jogging forward a few steps before slowing to walk out of the secluded alleyway and join the traffic of people. Time to leave this to chance and hope I overhear someone talking about prostitution _soon_…

Yeah, that is not going to happen.

Not truly certain but judging by the changed position of the sun, at least two hours had passed, and amongst the large crowds of people chattering I did not, and probably could not, hear the words prostitute, whore, brothel, or sex. Regardless, I am still walking.

A few minutes later I happened to spot a woman leading a man out of the streets. I narrowed my eyes at the strange activity. The only credible reason a woman would lead a man is if some kind of immediate exchange involving sex is about to occur.

I quickly followed down their alleyway and was about to walk around a corner when a disagreement emerged. Out of instinctual habit I hid against the end of the wall and listened.

"I did not come along just to be rejected!"

"_I_ did not accept your offer in the first place!" My eyes widened in recognizing that voice. "I brought you here to tell you that if you want my services, you must ask for them when we are at the brothel- not in public! Do you want us to be stoned?"

"Woman, the brothel is too far away. I cannot wait any longer. I want you now!"

"That is not wise!"

_What a polite way of saying, "Fuck no."_

Sounds of a few steps of sandals hitting the ground indicated the man walked closer to the secret prostitute. "The streets are busy and noisy. It will cover any moans _you_ make."

Goddamn it- HURRY UP and tell that fucker to keep his cock in his pants until you reach the brothel so I can follow you there!

I think she placed a defiant hand against his chest. "For the sake of both of _our lives_, wait until we reach the brothel."

THANK YOU!

Thudded sounds of flesh made me suspect the client grabbed her wrists, and those suspicions were immediately confirmed by her demand to be released. This is going downhill very fast.

"I should tell your father what a whore his daughter is and take delight in seeing you put in your place!"

I heard her spit. "My father is _dead_!"

The man awed in understanding. "So it is my responsibility to put you in your place." He threw the woman to the ground, and the sounds of rustling clothes and her protests caused my eyes to widen unbearably.

_AH!_ I gripped my head, leaning forward and closing my eyes from the pain as an old memory was fully triggered.

_My eyes widened in fear at seeing the bad men grab Mommy. I knew they were hurting her, and my whimpers turned into crying, hoping my wailing would make them stop._

"_Capitaine, ce gosse est gâcher l'ambiance!" __One of the men turned, yelling at the man with the scary mask before touching Mommy again._

_The masked man walked to me and knelt down so I did not have to look too high up. I instinctively silenced my voice and closed my mouth shut, not wanting to get hurt like Daddy. I could barely make out the guard's eyes past the thin opening in the mask, and I was too scared to look away from them to check on Mommy. She has not made a sound since the men grabbed her. They are making a lot of noise, though._

_Suddenly, the scary man pulled off his helmet revealing light brown hair and very green eyes. I momentarily stared in awe. Pretty!_

_He held the armor piece before him. "Little girl, turn around and sit in the corner behind you."_

_I immediately obeyed, turning, walking, and sitting close enough that my knees touched the wall._

"_Very good. Now close your eyes."_

_I hesitated, my head turning to want to check on Mommy, but the fair-eyed man quickly pushed my head back to look at the wall. "No! Very bad. Close your eyes. When they open, your mother will be fine, and we will be gone."_

"_...You promise?"_

_He nodded his head. "I promise."_

_I closed my eyes. I heard him move, but I don't know what he is doing. "Little girl, you are going to cover your ears, and you are going to wear a helmet. Promise me you will not remove the helmet and not stop covering your ears."_

"_I promise." I covered my ears with my pushing palms to prove my honesty. Like the man said, the heavy weight of a too big helmet rested on my head, slowly becoming uncomfortable and smelly, but I ignored it intent on keeping my promise so that man would keep his._

_Unbeknownst to me, two and a quarter long hours would pass with me in mental solitude, ignorant to what was occurring on the other side of the room._

I gasped, opening my eyes in appalled horror and recollection. When that memory had occurred I was merely six years old and had just discovered the concept of life and death from witnessing Father's murder. But I still had no grasp on anything sexual at the time, but now that I am older and reliving the memory I realize that Mother was…

The Captain's face flashed in my vision. My eyes narrowed and a growl emerged with cold, un-relinquished anger.

_I finally remember your face and voice, bastard!_

The scuffling and voices from around the corner caught back my attention. My fists tightened with the urge for violence, and there is someone very close by that is the perfect candidate to suffer the bunt of my wrath.

Swiftly stepping around the corner, I grabbed the unsuspecting victim's arm with both hands and pulled him off of her and slammed his body to the nearest wall. Before he could access the situation, I punched him across the face. Again. And again. And again.

The man suddenly brought up his knee, hitting my crotch, but to his dismay it was not effective. I punched him again, this time in the nose, breaking it. He howled while covering his face, sliding down the wall in pain, and I stepped back to study him. Fist sized bruises formed on his cheeks, and blood was already spilling from his nose and mouth down his hands. The client looked in his late adolescent years due to the slight shadow under his nose and along the edges of his jaw line.

What a dishonorable pussy.

"I am a woman, fucker," I revealed in my normal voice, squatting down in front of him. He finally looked up and glared at me with a disbelieving look. "That's right. I am a woman. I have a vagina, and I _beat you_."

My right fist swiftly rose and caught the man's feeble punch. Devoid of mercy my right hand quickly repositioned, grabbing his wrist while my left hand rose under the arm, pushing the elbow upward while my right hand pulled the wrist downward as hard as they could. A resonating snap along with an ear-piercing scream echoed the alleyway.

I released the useless arm and allowed the crying young man to coddle it, still squatting in front of him. Growing tired of his loud verbal obscenities, I slipped my left hand inside my shirt and pulled out my dagger. As soon as he spotted the weapon and went silent from fear, I stabbed him deep through eye, immediately killing him, and slid the dagger out of his head. This caused his upper body to slack, leaning to the right and falling in that direction. I took the opportunity to wipe his blood on his clothes before un-equipping my favorite weapon. I feel much better…

I rose to my feet and turned around, facing the prostitute who had already gathered herself and was standing a yard across from me with hateful eyes.

Inwardly sighing, I decided to not run away. "Good afternoon, Aram."

"What are you doing here, Kifah?" she hissed. She actually recognized my voice.

_Oh, you know: I killed some guild's assassin, so now I'm on that guild's Bounty List and hiding until they eventually give up and leave me alone!_

"Business."

Aram scowled. "You murder people for money, don't you?"

I crossed my arms against my chest. "I have not taken up a contract in almost a year."

She raised her arms into the air. "Almighty God! Kifah, what-where did you go wrong?!"

"You're welcome," I droned.

Her left arm returned to her side while her right pointed at me. "I am not going to thank you for _murdering_ him, but I do thank you for keeping him from raping me."

I raised an eyebrow even though she could not see it. "You do realize that had I not interfered, not only would he have raped you, but he could have bribed four false witnesses against you, leading men to judge that you seduced him into sinning then punish you without a second thought?"

"Do you really think I am _that_ blind? All women realize that! And even if he did rape me, I would let him get away with it because he would not have condemned me to the public; he was my most frequent customer, dumb cow!"

Realization soon followed by disgust flooded through me. Aram is angry with me because I killed a steady source of income.

Aram's features darkened considerably as her eyes furrowed and face glowered. "Don't you _dare_. Don't you of all people look at me like that."

Those words and tone of voice hit too close to home for my liking. "I will look at you however I want."

"You are a MURDERER! You murdered_ my_ brother and father! You have no right to judge me!" she yelled.

I scoffed. "So? You're a prostitute. We both don't have the right to judge, but we will do it anyway because we can."

Aram threw her hands in the air again in agitation and yelled briefly. When she finished, her arms came down heavily and dangled parallel.

"Why, Kifah, why?" My expression turned completely confused. "Why did I end up like this and you ended up like… that?"

I sighed heavily. "The actions of others have a large impact, but everything is finalized by our personal choice-" Aram interrupted me with a connecting slap. Moving my head back to face her, I glared. "I let you get away with _one_. Do that again, and I will treat you like a man."

She backed off but continued scowling, puffing out her well-endowed chest. "Should I treat _you_ like a man since you _chose_ to dress like one?"

Tired of this argument I changed the subject, "Have you 'rescued' your little sister yet?"

My question caught her off guard. Aram rested her hijab-covered head against her right palm. She looks very tired.

"That is none of your concern."

"So you have not. Not surprising, really. Did you really think you could just dance into Damascus, grab your sister, a _slave_, and get out? Without a man's blessing where are you living anyway? And where is your mother?"

"Will you please just stop talking?!"

"No."

Aram's glare returned, knowing I would not leave until she satisfied my curiosity and I have the strength to keep her from escaping. "I left Jersualem by myself. I suppose Mother is still there-"

My eyebrows narrowed. "You abandoned your _mother_?"

"She does not deserve that title for selling her youngest daughter of _eight years_ into slavery!"

This reveal shocked me, and memories of when my mother and I went through hard times flooded my mind. I doubt Mother ever considered selling me since she did not hesitate to work hard to support us all those years.

My silence alerted Aram of my agreeing opinion, and she continued, "I admit I did not think this through, but I just want my sister back… I took employment at a whore-house in the Middle District, and I have been living with the family-less prostitutes in the quarters' floor for the past month. I managed to track down the Sheikh who bought her, by the way, but… I do not know how to save her."

"Oh, that is easy to figure out."

Her eyes actually brightened. "Really?"

"Yes. All you need to do is buy back your sister."

And her face immediately fell. "You know I cannot do that!"

"Why not?"

"I doubt I can afford the price for buying a slave from a _Sheikh_, and I do not have the right to own a slave in the first place!"

I tilted my head. "Well, maybe you don't, but I do."

Aram baffled, "What?"

"Do you have any idea for how long and how many times I have posed as a man? Also, assassinating certain people pays very well."

My childhood friend was silent for several moments as she made the connections in her head.

"…You cannot possibly be suggesting that you would…"

I pulled my mask back, revealing my face and messy short hair. "Take me to your brothel so I can buy some tobacco. Then give me the name and place where the Sheikh lives so I can get your sister." She cannot and will not ignore the sincerity in my face.

We both stood in the alleyway, ignoring the sounds of the ignorant crowds and staring at (more like studying) the other.

Finally she pondered the question, "Why?"

I shrugged. "It was an impromptu decision. What? You want me to take it back?"

Her eyes immediately widened in response. "No!"

Unable to keep myself from smiling, I pulled back on the short veil and lowered my pitch. "Lead the way, Aram."

We hastily left the alleyway and joined the crowd in the streets. No doubt the client's body will be discovered by tomorrow.

Once in the Middle District, Aram led me to one of the largest private gardens that apparently contain a hidden brothel, and I had to fervently and repeatedly explain to the Madam of the house that I was not interested in her girls' entertainment, much less Aram's services. Eventually, I convinced her to only sell me some tobacco, and after hiding it away in my clothes, I asked Aram for the location of her sister.

She crossed her arms and set a firm stare on me. "Not until you tell me _why_ you are doing this."

I blinked. "Does it really matter?"

"Yes!" she bit out. "You caused this to happen in the first place!"

My eyebrows furrowed as I could not help being offended. "_I _am not the only one who sinned. Do not place all the blame on me, Aram."

Exhaling from frustration, she massaged her forehead. "I know, but… After what you did, why would you help us? Do you know how much money you will be spending for nothing in return?"

I paused to guess the estimates. "…It depends on how much the Sheikh wants or does not want to sell her. If it comes down to it I will have to offer twice her worth to buy her. How old is your sister now?"

"She became nine yesterday."

"Is she comely?"

"Yes. Her appearance is completely opposite of mine when I was her age."

This is very alarming. If what Aram says is accurate, someone by now must be lusting after the girl. Hopefully it is not the Sheikh or anyone in his family.

"Kifah, you better answer my question, or I will tell you nothing."

"Fine…" I sighed. "Aram, do not get the wrong idea, and if you already have, put it out of your head. I do not have any remorse for murdering your brother and father. I do r… _regret_-" I forced out, "-the pain and suffering their deaths caused you. That is all."

Even with no face veil, the expression on her face was unreadable. Slowly she reached out her hand and grasped my arm, leading me out of the brothel into the garden and stopping at the exit.

Releasing my arm, Aram leaned against me and pressed her mouth next to my clothed ear to reveal all she knows. As soon as she finished she stepped back and brooded away deep into the garden to enter the brothel's secret back entrance.

Having a full grasp on the situation, the name of the Sheikh, and the location of his home, I left the garden and walked to the Rich District to deliver my landlord's tobacco.

**The Protector**

I sat upright, gasping from another nightmare. Looking out of the window I cursed as the sun just began to peek over the horizon. At least I managed to sleep longer than the other day…

I pulled the smooth covers off of my form. Normally I would be naked, but I am forced to wear fucking breeches this week to stay as clean as possible. _Fuck_, the ache! I gingerly rubbed my lower abdomen even though I know it will not help. That private bathing room is going to be used frequently for the next several days.

After rising out of bed, I thoroughly washed my lower regions then dressed, strapping on my hidden weapons and wearing my male disguise again. Instead of two handfuls of dinaq dirhams, I placed forty dirhams and five purest dinars in my pouch. The sooner I buy Aram's sister's freedom the sooner they can return to Jerusalem. Whether they decide to reside with their mother again is their business, but surely Aram realizes that it is better to live in a familiar place.

I entered the kitchen and ate several fruits at the dining table. Lifting the last apricot, I could not help but wonder when Tazim's colleagues will locate me. My arm stilled before it reached my opened mouth, along with the rest of my body stiffening in alarm. Once my brain acknowledged the bodily alert, I closed my mouth and set the apricot down on the table. Calmly I rose and walked to the window, looking out and taking a deep breath of fresh air. Meanwhile my pupils darted all over the scenery looking for anything suspicious.

A full minute passed before I returned to sit down and finish my breakfast. I picked up the apricot and resumed biting it, lapping up the leaking juices running down the sides.

I am not sure whether I should be relieved or worried that I did not see anything.

Soon all that was left was the pit, and after disposing it I exited the rental home to locate the Citadel. The closer I came within distance of it the number of patrol groups and guards within increased. Before long I found myself starring at the high iron gates surrounding the magnificent place.

The head gate guard raised his head. "What do you want, boy?"

_Allah, please let this go smoothly!_ I slightly lowered my head before speaking, "I am but a humble servant and wish an audience with the Sheikh."

Another guard questioned further, "Why?"

I forced myself to keep my head low. "Please, it is a private matter and of the utmost importance to me. Even if I can only speak to the Head Slave it will be enough."

Several moments passed between the pondering guards before the leader gruffly allowed me entrance on the condition that I wait until approached in the courtyard. Of course, I agreed. Rising my head, I strolled past the guards and stood in the center of the large courtyard. Aside from a small fountain, it is surprisingly bare.

Far too much time passed before someone, an older male Arab slave with a high-pitched voice indicating he is a eunuch, approached me and asked of my business, and the darkest man I have ever seen followed behind him, carrying scrolls. I stared.

"_So, you are a woman now, Little-Girl. Congratulations!" Old-Man smiled after explaining why my vagina is bleeding._

_I stared at him, completely mortified. I have to deal with this mess and pain for about a week every month for the rest of my fertile years?!_

"'_Congratulations' is not the word I would use to describe this, Old-Man."_

_He paused, stroking his grey beard. "Perhaps, but now you can get pregnant and have children!"_

"_I have heard that that is a very painful experience."_

"_Oh, quit your whining!" he slapped my back. "You are a little too young to bring children into this world, anyway. __And no family is going to engage you to their son since you have no dowry._ Now come over here," he ordered, guiding me to sit with him at the eating table.

_I reluctantly sat down, getting a feeling that he is going to enlighten me with more gross information._

_Old-Man crossed his arms. "Unfortunately, there are men who will want to have sex with you without consequences... Do you even know what sex is?"_

_I nodded. I know that is how I was conceived, and for the most part I know how it is supposed to work. However, the full idea of it, like actually experiencing it, I cannot fathom, but I doubt Old-Man is asking for that._

_He nodded his head in approval. "Good. Now you know as well as I do that there are honorable and dishonorable guards. The dishonorable guards might try to have sex with you. Do not let them!"_

"_Okay," I agreed and moved to get up._

_Old-Man slapped his palm on the table, startling me. _

"_HEY! I am not done yet! Sit down!" After I obeyed, he resumed his lecture, "Besides the guards, there are other men who might try to have sex with you that should not. Even Muslim civilian men... I doubt it will happen, but if an infidel tries to have sex with you, murder him with a clean mind!"_

_I nodded my head._

_Then he cringed, very visibly. "And Allah forbid! If a Negro tries to have sex with you, kill him. It will not be murder."_

_I blinked upon hearing a new word. "What is a Negro?"_

"_They... are less than human, Little-Girl. They lack knowledge, culture, and especially discipline!"_

_Raising an eyebrow curiously, I wondered, "What do they look like?"_

_Old-Man has a look of disgust. "Flat faces, low foreheads, blackest skin, and blackest eyes."_

_The muscles in my face clenched._

"_They sound like demons."_

_This caused Old-Man to laugh. "No, they are not demons, but they might as well be animals. To be_ defiled_ by them is worse than being murdered by an assassin, SO STAY AWAY FROM THEM, LITTLE-GIRL!"_

I was so shocked I did not even hear the Arab eunuch first ask why I am here.

Quickly shaking my head to reality, I finally answered, "I have a business proposal to make with the Sheikh…"

He peered at me, followed my gaze to what I am looking at, and looked back at me in puzzlement.

"Is this your first time seeing a Negro?"

"Up close, yes." Or at least, if I did I did not know it. I imagine they are very hard to see at night!

The Negro looked down and stared at the scrolls he is carrying strangely… Wait, if he is a slave to a eunuch, then that must mean…

I finally broke my gaze away from the Negro and looked at the Arab, wondering, "Is he a eunuch, too?"

His face scowled, and his voice barely lowered to reflect his mood. "_Yes_. I had to castrate him for defiling papers."

…_What?_

My face blanked as my mind processed this information.

"…He tried to have sex with paper?"

"Paper specifically rolled up so it made a hollow circular tube that his prick could fit in, like a _scroll_."

At that word, he looked at the Negro over his shoulder, glaring at him. The slave actually felt it and looked up. Then he flinched and stopped looking at the scrolls with fruitless lust.

_I guess that is what Old-Man meant when he said Negroes lack discipline..._

Releasing a frustrated sigh, the Arab eunuch turned back to me, and he finally agreed to bring me inside the Citadel. We entered, and it was not until I saw the inside of the castle that I stopped looking at the Negro.

Being inside such prestigious, highest class houses during the day is a drastic difference to roaming the halls of such at night! I had to keep myself from staring in awe at every beautiful and shiny object I saw.

The eunuchs and I eventually entered a room, though devoid of furniture, still retained beauty through the design and coloration of the walls and columns. A colorfully dressed man with a shaved head was speaking to a few servant girls before he noticed us. The new man promptly dismissed the girls and walked up to the Arab eunuch and inquired with him about why I am here.

"Please, I am here about an important, uh-private matter-"

"What sort of matter?" the bald man questioned impatiently.

"Business. You see, I-"

"What sort of business would a man such as yourself-" He looked over me with a slight cringe. "-possibly have with the Sheikh?"

My left eye began to twitch. "There is a slave girl here that I wish to buy back from the Sheikh," I explained through clenched teeth as calmly as possible.

The managing servant scoffed. "Are you out of your mind, you-"

I opened my palm revealing a single dinar and flipped it using my thumb, letting him hear the song only round, solid gold can produce before swiftly catching it in the air. I hid the coin safely away within my pouch, grinning at my companies' gaping faces.

Before I knew it, I was dragged into a very grand room, fully furnished and filled with beautiful slave girls. Some of them held lavish utensils, standing around beck-and-call close to their master sitting at the far end of the room on a pile of large, stuffed pillows on top of one of the largest carpets I have ever seen. A few girls were dancing while the rest just stood there looking pretty.

Amir Mankawar looked well into his sixties, maybe even seventies with his completely grey long beard. His hair and the sides of his wrinkled face are covered by a pure white turban, and his white folding robes with gold lining matched. A white silk cloth is wrapped around his waist with an attached scimitar in a polished scabbard.

I understand Sheikhs are supposed to be highly appraised and rich, but this is ridiculous! And why are there so many fucking pillows on the floor?!

Upon noticing the bald man- _Wait, where did the eunuchs go?_ -fully bowed to his master, I bowed as well.

"May Allah grant peace upon you, master."

_I have murdered one of your kind before, and it was the most difficult assignment I ever had._ "Peace be upon you."

"Rise," a deep voice drawled from the direction of the Sheikh. I inwardly jumped; his voice is fucking _intimidating_!

His servant and I rose to stand, and he explained why he brought me here and that I indeed have money.

Mankawar raised both bushy eyebrows at me. "What is your name?"

"Fahkir El-Saqqaf." Easy to remember. Fahkir is the name of one of my childhood friends, and El-Saqqaf is Aram's family name.

"Fahkir El-Saqqaf… You said you wish to 'buy back' one of my slave girls?"

"Yes, your highness."

He awed briefly as if experiencing an epiphany and chuckled deeply.

"Let me guess: she belonged to you, and when she left you discovered you miss her?"

This bastard is mocking me!

"Actually, sir, she did not belong to me as a slave but as a sister. My unrighteous mother sold her without my consent, and I beat her for it and for the trouble she had caused for me having to track my sister all the way from Jerusalem to Damascus."

The Sheikh's eyes gleamed in approval and new understanding of the situation. "And what makes you so sure your sister is here?"

My eyes darkened as I acted along. "The reason my mother earned so much money from selling my sister is because the Sheikh's slaver- _your_ slaver- was willing to pay exceptionally for a guaranteed young virgin. Besides, bruised crying women have nothing to hide when they are looking death in the face, your highness."

_That vile woman should know that enslaving a freeborn Muslim is forbidden, even if she is her daughter. If she really needed the money she could have possibly formed a manumission contract using her daughter. At least then the girl would eventually regain her rightful free status!_

Mankawar's eyes glazed in thought while he slowly stroked his beard. "And what is the name of your sister?"

"Lana El-Saqqaf, your highness."

Immediately he commanded his Head Slave to bring the slave girl named Lana. A few minutes later, he returned with a young girl half my size, merely clothed with a long deep blue skirt with open slits on the sides and a light blue sleeveless tube-top. A blue tied veil covered the lower half of her face, which proved to be useless due to its translucence. The blackest hair I have ever seen was straight and flat, reaching the middle of her back, and her incredibly dark, slanted big eyes were accented by long, thick eyelashes and her unexpectedly light tan skin. Her lips are still small, as the time for them to plump had not reached her yet. Her cheekbones are high, and her nose long and nostrils not overly wide. These combined features, though absolutely Arabian, somehow gave the illusion of an exotic look. Despite her small stature and childish, lanky frame, in the face she looks like an adolescent beauty ripe for marriage.

Dear God, she has been here for nearly five months; there is no way she is still a maiden.

I cannot even imagine what she will look like when she becomes fertile and develops curves.

Lana ceremoniously fell to her knees close before her master. "Allah grants peace upon you, my master." Even her voice sounds comely!

He motioned for her to get up, and she obeyed. I remained silent and still, standing a yard behind Aram's sister.

"My child, what is your name?"

"Lana, master."

The old Sheikh shook his head. "What is your whole name, child?"

She understandably hesitated. Smart girl…

"Master, I am a slave, and slaves only have a first name."

Growing slightly annoyed Mankawar's fingertips scoped the hilt of his scimitar, but he maintained a carefree tone. "You were once free, were you not? In fact, you were born free, at least, according to that young man behind you. So, tell me: what is the name you were bestowed upon your birth?"

Taking in a deep, shaky breath, she answered as neutrally as a child could, "I was born Lana El-Saqqaf… master."

After a tense pause he looked over her and reestablished eye-contact. "You spoke the truth, Fahkir."

"Of course, your highness. I am a Muslim."

In an unfathomable display of generosity, the Sheikh gave me the slightest of nods. "Allah forbid I ever doubt your word again. However, do you realize that the method to freeing your sister has not changed?"

Upon hearing this Lana could not help herself and turned around to look at me. I was grateful for this since her eyes shown confusion and disbelief. Hopefully she is smart enough to go along with it.

I nodded my masked head. "Of course, your highness. How much do you want?" Lana began to frequently look between me and her current master.

Mankawar hummed loudly for nearly half of a minute, drumming his rough fingertips against his leg.

Finally, he proposed, "As Lana's brother you must realize how great her beauty is; only Allah could have sculpted one of his daughters into such perfection. As a result, my grandson has become quite infatuated with her. I was considering giving her to him for his upcoming birthday, but… I am willing to sell her to you if you manage to persuade me."

"Three pure dinars," I immediately answered.

"Five." Oh, great. He is testing to see how far he can manipulate me.

I narrowed my eyes. "Three should be enough, your highness. I _know_ that is twice her actual worth. You would be making a great profit."

Astonishingly he did not take offense of my slightly elevated tone, and instead he simply grinned. "On strict financial terms, yes. But you forget her worth increased the moment my grandson laid eyes on her. If I sell her, not only am I losing one of the most beautiful girls I have ever seen in my life, I am losing favor with my favorite grandson." He casually leaned back against the pillows and reached for a single grape on the nearest held plate. "Four dinars and fifty dirhams; no dinaq." He ate the grape.

_Greedy son of a whore!_ "Four dinars and forty dirhams," I failed to conceal the creeping desperation behind my voice.

The Sheikh grinned even wider and rose to stand. Carrying prestigious dignity he walked to me and reached out his right hand. "For four dinars and forty dirhams, Lana the slave will henceforth belong to you, and you will have the right to do whatever you wish with her as her master."

I promptly grasped his rough hand. "Deal." And our hands shook in final agreement with his Muslim slave-women and the Head Slave as witnesses. As soon as our hands separated I reached into my clothes, untied my pouch, and pulled it out. Kneeling on the floor the old man joined me while I retrieved and counted all the coins, then he weighed them on a balance one of the slave girl's was carrying. All that remains in my money pouch is the one gold coin I flipped.

While I stood after finishing, Mankawar remained sitting on the carpet. He turned his gaze to his former slave and bid her farewell, "May Allah smile upon you, child. Oh, and treasure and guard your freedom when you have it."

The girl smiled and bowed. "Yes, ma-your highness. May Allah give you good health."

I blinked, and Lana appeared right next to my side starring at me intently. Right, I am supposed to be her brother. I held out my right hand to her, and she smiled as she grabbed it and leaned up on her tip-toes. Obliging her, my head lowered enough for her to kiss both of my veiled cheeks.

"Let's go home, Lana El-Saqqaf."

"Yes, please!" she agreed and ignored the jealous stares of the remaining female slaves.

Turning around, I saw the same Arab eunuch waiting for us at the door (was he there the entire time?), and he escorted us out to the front gate.

As we left the grounds of the Citadel and the servant returned to his rightful place, Lana glanced back tentatively, probably a little shocked and confused over what just occurred. Immediately I noticed the looks of curiosity, abhor, and lust from passing citizens and guards focused on Lana. Taking off my extra black tunic, I pulled it around her body to give her the modesty a free Muslim deserves. With much strength she grasped the sleeves in her right hand, holding them across her chest and dragging the bottom of the clothing on the ground after her as I resumed holding her left hand and leading us to Aram.

While on our way to the Middle District, it took longer than I anticipated for the girl to crack and start asking questions.

"Is what he and you said true? Am I really free?"

"Yes. Why would we lie about such a matter? You did not deserve to be enslaved in the first place."

"…Who are you?"

_I'm the young woman who murdered your real brother when you were a baby and had the audacity to pose as him about twenty minutes ago. Nice to meet you._

"I'm the person that just gave you your birthright back."

I could not help the inward coo of a long "aw" at seeing her lips pout in dissatisfaction.

"Um… That is true, but why did you do that?"

"Let's just say I owe your sister, and this makes us even."

As expected, Lana raised an eyebrow, not believing any part of my answer.

"Listen, brat," I made my tone of voice more authoritative. "This kind of chance is not something one receives twice in a hundred lifetimes. Do not waste your freedom. And do me a favor and look after Aram. She may be your older sister, but even grown-ups need help from time to time. And considering what I just did, don't you dare object."

The beautiful girl stayed silent for a long time, thinking. We even approached the correct private garden, and she remained unspoken. Lana still received curious and perplexed looks due to her strange mix of attire along the way, but I took her out of sight and into the garden. Looking around in the back, I found what I was looking for and motioned the little sister to come. When she reached me, I instructed her to hide behind a bush until I told her to come out.

After giving her a firm glare at her response, she changed her mind and stood behind the oversized plant. Reassured that she would stay put, I skimmed the back walls of the garden. My fingers soon brushed against rope, gripping it and pulling it towards me. This caused the secret door to open, and I hurriedly entered the brothel and searched for Aram.

I entered the waiting room just in time to spot her conversing with a potential client with feigned pleasantries. Walking fast I approached the duo and grabbed Aram's forearm, pulling her away from the now unhappy man.

"Aram, come," I commanded in my normal voice.

"Whoa! Wait a minute," the customer ran around us and stopped in front of me, in my way. "Listen well, boy! You can't just drag away someone else's entertainment," he berated me.

Rolling my eyes I turned my head to glance at a very confused Aram. "I got your sister."

Her loud gasp filled the room along with a sudden glow emitting from her face. It took several seconds for her to regain her composure and wipe away her budding tears, and upon sensing this I released her arm. Ready, Aram walked ahead of me, approaching her potential client, then she jabbed a finger against his chest.

"I quit. Now get out of our way and find a different woman or _get the fuck out_."

The man's lower jaw gaped wide with appall. Having already lost all patience, Aram pushed the man aside and rushed past him towards the back of the building. I casually walked past the stricken man and chuckled.

"And to think you just missed that."

As I approached the backdoor and pushed it open, I heard the joyous shrieks of two sisters that missed each other very much. Walking through and closing the hidden door behind me, indeed I saw Lana lifted up in a tight hug against her sibling while the robe lay on the floor… Oh, my God- Are they crying?

The sounds of multiple droplets hitting the brick floor confirmed with my eyesight. Slightly embarrassed, I averted my gaze and decided to leave the two alone. After quickly retrieving my garment I walked out of the private garden and towards the Sarouja Souk in the hopes it is time for lunch.

Hopefully Aram is wise enough to return to Jerusalem as soon as she and Lana recollect their bearings. They can catch up on the way home.

**The Protector**

I lifted another bucket over my head, pouring the cold water over me to rinse away the soap. After scrubbing my lower regions and legs, it was verified that my cycle had finally finished. The same bucket was filled with more water before I rinsed for the last time. I set it down and shook the excess water off, grabbed a towel, and dried myself.

On the dry half of the room my blood-stained breeches were cast. I need to make another one before the next cycle arrives.

Once dry enough, I walked to my bedroom and groaned again as I pulled on my masculine clothes. I really miss my dress…

Stomping my boots on, I returned to the bathroom and grabbed the ruined breeches. I took them to the kitchen and threw the breeches into the fireplace. The combined weight of the cooking pot and the bag of savings proved to be heavy, but I managed to lift and move them onto the table. Immediately I searched through the kitchen drawers and found a flint stone and a small glass jar of lamp oil. Taking these to the fireplace, I drenched the bloody clothing with the oil, determined to not leave any evidence that a woman lives here. After setting the empty glass aside I took out my dagger and positioned it and the flint close to the breeches. I struck the stone against the steel, producing several sparks until one of them reached the oil. A flame quickly emerged and traveled all over the clothing, causing me to jump back.

While it burned I put away the flint stone and slid my short blade back into its sheath. I walked over to the dining table and sat in a chair, watching and waiting for the evidence to completely turn into ash.

Soon my thoughts unwillingly drifted back to Aram and Lana. Five days had passed since I last saw them, and hopefully by now they are in Jerusalem. I wonder how they reacted to my sudden disappearance.

In all honesty, I did not want to face their reactions to what I had done. I have no idea what they would have said. Would Aram have professed forgiveness for my wrongdoings against her family? Or would she reveal to her little sister that I am the murderer of their father and brother as well as her savior? How would I react in turn? Would I brush it off? Or would I have even minded if Lana knew the truth?

The overwhelming amount of emotional unknowns made me uncertain and uncomfortable, so I left.

Also, I had never revealed to Aram where I am residing. If she or Lana wanted to speak with me, they could not anyway since they could not find me.

The flames eventually dwindled to reveal the black, unrecognizable material that was once a blood-stained undergarment. Satisfied, I returned the cooking pot to its rightful place.

Suddenly an idea struck me. I was planning to go the library again today, but I really want to dress like a woman again. And for some reason I feel a great urge to practice with a long blade again.

Normally I am not so easily pushed by nostalgia. I am too young to be nostalgic to begin with! What the fuck is wrong with me?

I inwardly loved the idea, regardless, so I returned to my bedroom and took out my black niqab and dress and stuffed them into an unoccupied bag. I carried it across my shoulder and entered the other bedroom. Lowering on all fours, I reached under the bed and pulled out the large leather carrier. I folded it open and grabbed the scabbard carrying Tazim's sword. Pulling the three attached straps around my waist, I buckled the ends against my left hip.

I made my way to the back door, the straight blade bouncing against my right leg, of course. Opening and closing the door behind me, I looked down both directions of the street to make sure there would be no annoying witnesses. Spotting none, I ran across the street and up the building, quickly scaling up to grasp the edge of the roof. With a happy grunt I lift myself to stand and started free-running. I need to find a rooftop garden.

It did not take long since they are rather popular for some reason, and I hid in one and quickly changed clothes. I leapt out past the curtains revealing my black dress and niqab, though I still needed to wear the leather boots for free-running and climbing. My sword was outwardly wrapped around my waist, acting like a belt to control my dress. I briefly jumped up and down, enjoying my legs' freedom before free-running across the rooftops again. Because of the dress' length I still had to be careful to not trip or make other, more dangerous mistakes, but it is completely worth it!

After taking a ridiculous detour of different routes to avoid the archers, I eventually reached the Middle District. Now I do not have to worry so much, and finding a secluded archer will be much easier.

Jumping across beams, across buildings, up buildings, down buildings, still not my forte, but exhilarating nonetheless. My breathing and heartbeat are loud in my ears.

I located a lone archer.

My legs quickly slowed down to a cautious halt as I observed his back to me. Quietly my fingers closed around the hilt of my sword, and it popped away from the edges of the scabbard before being pulled completely free with a metallic slide.

Intent on a real sword fight rather than an assassination, I opened my mouth, and no words of taunt came out.

_What?_

My eyebrows furrowed, but my mouth remained open and silent. Realizing how dumb I must look, I promptly closed my jaws and continued staring at the guard's back.

I hesitated. Not partially, not briefly; I completely hesitated to start a fight with a guard. A worthless _guard_!

_Blood. There was blood everywhere. Not all mine, of course, but mostly his. It splattered against the walls, the furniture, the floors, and especially me._

_The mutilated victim's gurgling died down, indicating his body had finally succumbed to being stabbed fifty three times. Thirty eight of them were to the face._

_I had some injuries of my own: a deep bite to my left shoulder, a busted lip, several ugly fresh bruises from the kicks and punches of a full-grown man, healing bruises from the kicks and punches of adolescent to full-grown men, and reopened wounds from the victims before him._

_But it is finally done; I have avenged Old-Man. The piece of shit under me was the last and the one who gave the order._

_Sliding the kitchen knife and that guard's dagger out of his eye-sockets, I stood up over the bloody corpse for a moment before walking away. Not caring for the kitchen knife, I tossed it across the room, and it hit and fell from the wall of the living room. Only a few yards away lay the other victim, his son._

_I admit that little fucker was a surprise. Previously, the sons of my targets would attack me after they realized how much trouble their fathers were in or after it was too late and their fathers died. This preadolescent boy actually sensed me and attacked me before his father. He would have made a great fighter._

_My thoughts were suddenly broken by the wailing of a toddler. Soon the desperate pleas of its mother were heard, failing to keep it quiet. My eyes narrowed. If it is a boy, it is safer for me to kill it before it grows up, grows strong._

_I stalked towards the source, into what is probably the master bedroom. The sounds came from behind the left side of the bed, so I walked around to find the mother sitting on her knees trying to comfort her held baby while a young woman a little older than me sat in front of her._

_The daughter's eyes widened in fear upon seeing me, as did the mother when she noticed my presence._

"_Give me the baby," I ordered._

_Immediately, the older teenaged girl rose to her feet, stretching out her arms to protect her remaining family. There is certainly fear in those eyes, but something else is overpowering it... something very familiar to me._

_Wrath._

"_LEAVE MY SISTER ALONE!"_

_My eyes perked. I don't have to kill a baby._

_Business finished I side stepped, turned, and walked away._

"_Have fun cleaning the mess," I bid farewell and left through the front door into the night._

I blinked at the memory. Did I really say that? Wait- What does it even matter? It happened; there's nothing I can do to change it. I-I helped Aram get her sister back. That is the end of my connection to her family!

My gaze lowered at the word: connection. Truly, how many people have my actions touched? My clients were happy at my successful missions. But how many children became Arams or Lanas? How did the sons react?

I violently shook my head, trying to suppress the thoughts. It doesn't _matter_; I cannot change the past! I did not even care about those consequences then- Why would I care now?!

My gaze returned to the oblivious archer's back. He is still completely unaware of my presence. It would be so easy just to sneak up behind him and stab up under his jawline…

The corners of my mouth twitched, slowly dipping into a frown. I want to swordfight, but I cannot bring myself to needlessly kill him.

_FUCK!_ I stomped my foot and immediately regretted it.

The rooftop guard spun around, asking who was there, but I was already on a different building.

Frustrated breathing echoed around me, and I spontaneously kicked the tower I was leaning against with both hands.

_DAMN YOU, TAZIM! FUCKING NOSY FUCK, DAMN YOU!_

"Hold, Kifah!"

I froze for a moment then glanced behind me. Familiar tunic, leather equipment, and hood filled my peripheral vision. Slowly to not alarm the assassin I lowered my hands to my sides and turned around to face him.

What the fuck?

Those robes, though similar, have clear differences from the ones Tazim wore. Aside from the brown leather and red sash, Tazim's clothes were white. This assassin's tails at the bottom of his tunic are cut above the knees instead of the ankles, revealing gray pants and charcoal gray leather boots. The thick leather belt around his waist matched in color and texture, but the red sash is shorter than Tazim's and not quite as red. It looks more faded. Then I noticed the familiar brown leather straps around his torso and the metal crest against his right breast. He also wears brown leather vambraces, but only his left hand is gloved. No doubt the left vambrace hides a hidden blade. Speaking of blades, I only see a sword on his left side. Not even one throwing knife holder is on him.

It does not take a tactical genius to figure out that this assassin is ranked much lower than the one I killed. Really? Tazim's guild sent _this_ after me?

And another thing, this assassin, this _boy_ is my height, yet he has absolutely no facial hair, not even a slight shadow- Wait a minute. I narrowed my eyes and studied his face more carefully. The skin is as dark as mine. His eyebrows, though black, are too thin and too short. I cannot properly see his eye color with that hood on, and that crossbow he is aiming at me does not conceal the round shape of his eyes. At least his nose looks common. However, those lips are thin, and his chin is rather prominent and round…

I could not withhold my inquiry, "Are you a mix?"

This boy cannot be older than sixteen! He looked quite taken aback from the question, but he quickly recomposed himself despite the occasional crack in his growing voice.

"Silence! I'm the one who is doing the questioning. Did you murder Tazim Hakaik?"

His last name…

I repeated his full name to myself.

_Honor and respect truths._

* * *

**Ferme ta gueule****,**** sarrasine! **|** Shut up, Saracen!**

**Je ferai tout ce que vous voulez! Il suffit de laisser ma fille**** seule! **|** I'll do anything you want! Just leave my daughter alone!**

**Tout ce que? **|** Anything?**

**Quoi que. **|** Whatsoever.**

**Capitaine, ce gosse est gâcher l'ambiance! **|** Captain, that brat is ruining the mood!**

* * *

**Lunatic Glare: **_Thank you! They should be corrected. Even after proof reading three times I still miss mistakes. Perhaps I should consider getting a Beta-reader._

**Her Head In the Clouds: **_Thank you very much! But let's get one thing clear: this story is **NOT** Alternate Universe (aside from the existence of OCs). I'm surprised that you came to that conclusion by Kifah's appearance. I tried researching what the dress would have been for men and women in 13th century Middle East and hoped that I accurately applied it to my story. Then again, I have no formal background with Middle Eastern history and culture, so all the cultural applications in my story could be horribly wrong and a huge Fail on my part. In fact, I am pretty sure how I am describing the currency is a big fat F._

_To clarify, Kifah's casual wear is usually a black niqab along with the long, body-covering black dress (though she has these in other colors). When she is about to do something that requires free-running or fighting, she essentially dresses like a man (in the game civilian men still wear long gowns while thugs, assassins, body guards, and soldiers wear pants)._


	9. Confrontation

_Honor and respect truths._

Casually crossing my arms across my chest, I leaned more on my left foot while raising an eyebrow at the- I suppose- assassin's nervous disposition. Fuck, I really have every right to judge him; I became an assassin at a younger age than he without any formal training!

"Did your people recover his body from the rooftop of my house?"

"Yes!"

I tipped my head to the side. "Well, that is your answer. I know he assigned fake-scholars to watch me and my house, but I was careful to escape Jerusalem. How did your people find me, and how is it you recognize me?"

"You must be ignorant or foolish. We have spies _everywhere_, and Tazim wrote reports of his meetings with you and everything he knew about you, including your name and appearance! Or should I say appearances, cross dresser?"

My throat tightened. I am not surprised at this revelation, really, but…

Returning my attention to the boy I inquired, "I can't help but feel that you are taking Tazim's death personally. Just who was he to you?"

His face twisted, and the sounds of squeezing wood alerted me that his grip on the crossbow tightened considerably. Oh, he's that angry.

"Enough! Why did you do it?!"

There was a long pause. I had thought about that question before, more often than I should have, and the real reason bothered me more than it should have. Regardless, "You would not believe me if I told you."

His face worsened into fury for some reason before biting out, "You're coming to Masyaf."

Now this intrigued me. "Why?"

"To answer for murdering Tazim!" he shouted, exasperated.

It is a good thing I am wearing the niqab, or else seeing my facial expression would probably cause his teenage rage to break.

"Oh?" Despite being about six yards away, I leaned forward towards him, looking past his extended right arm wielding the weapon and into his youthful eyes. "And who's going to make me?"

The unwavering confidence in his voice was almost inspiring, and cute. "Me!"

I scoffed a laugh while leaning back. Smirking, I curiously pressed, "Tell me: have you ever killed a person?"

He blinked yet answered immediately, "No."

_Oh, this is rich._

"You may have to." My arms returned to rest at my sides. "Listen well, _assassin_. I managed to defeat one of your best," I bluffed. "What in God's will makes you think you can subdue me, much less defeat me?"

The young man seemed to actually consider this, since his face slowly flattened to a blank stare. However, just when I thought he had realized the futility in his mission, the boy readjusted and strengthened his stance, lifting his left hand to hold the underside near the head of the crossbow after bringing it in, and the look of determination returned.

My eyes widened as the muscles in my arms and legs twitched in anticipation. There is no way he is going to- I leapt to the right, my left hand extracting three throwing knives and flinging them before my feet touched the rooftop from dodging the arrow. The young assassin screamed as his left hand quickly let go of the crossbow. Two of my knives had hit his vambrace, but one penetrated through his glove and deep into the back of his hand, spilling dark blood.

I opened my mouth to speak, but the boy bared his teeth and brought his injured hand to his mouth. Opening it, he bit down on the small knife and quickly pulled it out. Several drops of blood sprayed on his face, yet the inexperienced assassin ignored them and spat the knife to the side while his bleeding hand rose and reached behind his back, revealing the underside of his vambrace did not carry a hidden blade like I had assumed.

Still, I blinked. Did this kid just-

His blood-covered hand returned with a short arrow, and faster than I thought possible he reloaded the crossbow and took aim. I bolted to the right, hearing the sounds of the arrow push the air behind me. Inadvertently, I skid to a halt at the edge of the rooftop, and my head turned in time to see the boy finish loading another arrow despite his injury and aim again.

_Stubborn little-_ I tumble rolled forward to gain space from the edge while dodging another arrow. Squatting on all fours, I glared at the boy only five yards away.

"Alright, kid!" He paused from reloading, looking at me curiously. I stood up. "If you really are an assassin, bear its weight!"

I sprinted. His eyes widened before resuming reloading the crossbow. I kept my eyes open, focused on reaching him as fast as possible.

_Six strides._

The arrow and string were pulled back.

_Five strides._

It caught and clicked.

_Four strides._

The boy extended his arm.

_Three strides._

I extended my left arm.

_Two strides._

My dominant hand grabbed under the head of the weapon and pushed it upward, causing the triggered arrow to fire over my head.

_One stride._

My right hand closed into a fist and punched his stomach. The boy arched forward, coughing. Having come to a halt, I quickly moved my right leg between his legs, resting the heel of my right boot against his left boot. My right hand subsequently migrated to the top of his sternum, palm spread and pressing, and I pushed forward then downward while my right foot kicked his leg out. This caused the boy to lose his balance and start falling backwards, and I easily slammed him onto the rooftop. He flinched and gasped in pain, finally releasing his hold on the crossbow. It fell next to him, so I stomped on its center breaking the nut before kicking the weapon out of his reach. The sounds of wheezing reached my ears, confirming that I slammed the breath out of him. I released him and swiftly backed away to give him space to recover.

"I bet Tazim's reports did not include that."

Unfortunately, that move only works as a surprise attack because of the difference of power between me and men. Even with surprise on my side, if the man is experienced and strong enough, he can break the maneuver and counterattack. Maybe if I was a man, I could initiate that technique successfully without the element of surprise, but that is not the case. And the fact I took down a fresh teenage boy hardly counts as a feat.

Said assassin slowly lifted his head then his torso, leaning on his elbows. Glaring eyes homed to mine.

I frowned. "You are out of your league, kid. Go home."

His round eyes narrowed further. Forcing himself to take a calm breath, he slowly but steadily returned to stand, still wheezing in air.

The boy inadvertently gulped. "…I have not come this far just to retreat like a coward!" And he drew his fucking sword.

I starred, deadpanned. Well, at least I got that duel I wanted.

My left hand reached across and gripped Tazim's sword's hilt, popping it free. "Retreating from certain death is not the act of a coward; it is the act of someone willing to survive. Does that mean you are suicidal?" I slid the sword free and raised it in time to block the boy's strike.

"You're coming to Masyaf!" He swung again.

I jumped back, dodging the side-slash. "Quit repeating yourself!" I snapped at him.

Moving my right hand under my left to grab the hilt, I powerfully swung diagonally, hitting his blocking sword hard enough to cause him to step back and loosen his grip. Upon weakening his defense, I freed my right hand and rushed in to strike his sword to the side, leaving his torso open. My free hand fisted and punched him in the same bruised spot. The boy cried out, fumbling backwards to gain space. I advanced, unmerciful. If this kid is stupid enough to not know when to retreat, he is going to face the consequences!

Surprisingly, he quickly regained his balance and fortification. Must be the adrenaline. I blocked a fast strike, but the assassin immediately swung again and again, forcing me to remain defensive. Finally, his left hand joined his right in holding his sword, and the next swing paused at its apex for a brief second.

That was all the time I needed.

I leapt backwards, dodging the powerful strike then jumped to the left and around, facing the boy's right side. I quickly slashed down his shoulder and upper arm. The boy screamed but managed to keep a hold on his weapon while turning to face me, so I front-kicked him in the stomach while he was still distracted by the pain. While he was stumbling backwards, I walked closer to him and kicked again with more force, causing him to finally fall.

He flinched, grunting from his back hitting the rooftop's floor again. Before he could recover I stood over him and stomped on his right hand as hard as I could.

"F- AH!"

"What? No 'fuck?'" I emphasized the "ck" before pressing my foot even harder in a twisting motion.

The boy's eyes closed before screaming, "_FUCK_!" His hand finally released the sword's handle, barely opening free against the bricks revealing scraped fingers.

My right foot immediately pushed on his left shoulder to keep him down. The young assassin's hood loosened and fell back upon the ground, though it was unintentional on my part. I studied his black hair. It was cut short like Tazim's. However, unlike Tazim's widow peak, the boy's hairline went straight across, slightly curving upward at the sides and going straight down to his ears. But what really got my attention were his eyes. They were not any shade of brown, nor green, or blue.

_Grey_…

"You definitely have infidel blood."

He snarled. "So what?! Is that enough reason for you to kill me?"

I scoffed, "Anyone foolish enough to point a weapon at me is enough reason for me to kill. Hell, it's an excuse." Upon seeing his eyes widen in fear of a blood-lusting murderer, I bent my knees a little, adding more weight to my feet while kneeling slightly at my victim. My sword lowered and pointed at him with its sharp tip poking his bobbing throat.

"So tell me, kid: how old are you?"

"I…F-fifteen."

_Oh, you are plenty old enough._

"Got any family? _Real_ family?"

"Y-yes."

_How precious._

"Tazim called your group an 'Order.' Does your family have high ranking in it?"

He reluctantly nodded his head instead of verbally answering. Having to live up to your parents' standards and expectations…?

I tilted my head at the fearful boy. A small pool of blood was starting to form from his deep, long gash. Most of his upper right sleeve was already stained. I sighed heavily, much to the assassin's worry and youthful curiosity. "Just go home, kid. I don't _want_ your life. I didn't even want Tazim's life! Just… tell your people to leave me alone-"

"You know that is not going to happen," he interjected with as firm of a voice he could muster. "You killed one of _us_, one of our _brothers_. I don't know you, but surely you have lost a loved one before and wanted justice, revenge! And on top of that, Tazim did dangerous work for a cause. For all we know, you murdered him because you're an enemy to that cause!"

"But I did not kill him for that! I'm not involved with the Crusaders!" I yelled in frustration.

"PROVE IT!" he yelled back, leaning forward despite the blade poking deeper into his neck.

An eerie, dangerously long pause passed between us. Tazim's people are only going to believe me if they can see and accept evidence (or the lack of evidence) or somehow get inside my head!

I stared hard at the boy, contemplating what to do now. It is clear no matter what I do more assassins will come after me. When will it end? For the love of God, I just want to be left alone and get on with my life! …I will probably go back to taking contracts once the Order loses track of me. But right now I need to take care of this young assassin.

My left hand changed to a backwards grip to maneuver my sword to point straight down at the center of the boy's chest. My right hand gripped underneath my left, keeping the sword's tip hovering yet occasionally poking his clothing. Eyes widening with realization he started struggling and writhing, but I promptly stomped and kicked his stomach till the pain was too much, leaving him still in ache.

I finally answered over his soft moans, "I cannot." I tightened my grip when something familiar entered my peripheral vision-

Instinctive reflects drove my left hand to dive into my garb, grab a knife, and throw it as quickly and hard as possible towards the lethal object coming towards me. I turned my head just in time to see my knife hit the surprise throwing knife, veering each other to the ground at target-less angles. After taking only a second to see that happen, I looked up in time to see a gloved fist punch between my eyes. I shrieked, instantly losing my vision and grip on my sword while falling backwards and rolling away from the force. The next thing I registered was my right hand cupping my pounding, dizzy forehead while lying on the ground. At some point I had slowed down to a stop before regaining my senses.

_WHAT THE FUCK JUST HAPPENED?!_

I groaned in immense pain while turning over, trying to lean on my knees and free arm though my head remained leaning on… something- probably the rooftop's floor.

If one person managed to do those attacks in such quick succession, then the surprise attacker has to be a completely full grown, trained, and experienced man. Shit!

I rubbed my head again in an attempt for my vision to focus, and masculine voices started to become recognizable. I blinked several times. I think… the older man is yelling at the boy, but why? He just rescued him, right? This doesn't make any sense…

"…can't _believe_ y…against your…orders, stole a…and…bow from…mory, and did n… expect any…notice?! Are you that stupid?!"

My legs wobbled a bit before I managed to find balance and get up to squat on all fours. My vision finally brightened and stilled, allowing me to see in full clarity. The boy was still bleeding but standing up now while getting lectured by the older man and a quick wound inspection. He also had his sword back in its scabbard. The reminder led me to scan the rooftop, spotting my broadsword near the two.

"No!" the younger male whined in his defense. "But I needed to avenge Tazim! I still do!"

"So, you are not stupid; you are just as reckless as your father was. Wonderful!" The second attacker folded over the torn, blood soaked sleeve with his right hand. "You'll live. Go to the Bureau, get them cleaned and stitched, and report _everything_ that has happened to the Rafiq."

I pushed my hands against my knees, forcing myself to rise to stand quickly. Unfortunately, it increased my dizziness, and I wobbled back while regaining my balance. Son of a whore- my head is still pounding!

The boy's face fell. "But Uncle-"

The man snapped, "Don't 'Uncle' me! Do what your told, novice, before I deliver a worse punishment than your father will!"

Based on his dialect, attitude, and pitch the man sounds educated, definitely higher ranked than the kid, and definitely over thirty years old.

The young assassin cringed then nodded his head obediently. Turning to the nearest edge, he jogged towards it then jumped off out of sight without a second glance. I could not help but follow the small blood trail he left behind. If I really wanted to, I could probably track him down and kill him…

Somewhat stabilized in walking now, I took in the new attacker's appearance and instantly recognized it. Those garbs are the same as what Tazim wore! My eyes darted all over and studied every seeable detail. Same white clothes; same long, deep red sash; same brown leather; same triangular metal crest! However, unlike Tazim this man has an equipped dagger holster attached to the leather strap on his back.

Finally, he turned facing me. I froze. Then I noticed more differences. Fifteen mostly equipped throwing knife holders instead of five: ten at his waist and five at his right boot; a sheathed sabre hanging against his left leg instead of a straight broadsword; missing an arm-

I did a double take.

Where is his left arm?

My eyes stared at the empty space before darting to the custom sewn short-ended sleeve concealing the nub. I am not sure what I feel more right now: admiring respect or raging embarrassment.

The high ranked assassin glowered in annoyance and probably anger for almost murdering the boy, too. They acted very familiar towards each other despite their obvious rank and age gap. And the boy called him something, I think in English or French. It is difficult for me to tell the difference when they are spoken with an Arabic accent.

Now I quickly studied the man's physique and what I could see under that hood. He is one head taller than me, and his facial hair confirmed my suspicions that he is definitely over thirty years old, over forty even. A light, black beard covered his lower face with grey hairs jutting along the jaw line, connecting to a very light black mustache. Even at this distance his Syrian eyes look haggard, testifying years of experience and suffering. The clothes are well filled by developed and earned muscles as expected, but what threw me off was his one arm. It is more muscular than those of all the generals and captains I have ever encountered; it even rivaled the arms of thugs!

No doubt his arm gained so much muscle mass to compensate for the lack of its counterpart, and I guess that this older assassin has been without his left arm for a good number of years.

That also explains how his punch knocked me unconscious.

I take it back: I feel more respect than embarrassment… Even if I had been slowly backing away until the assassin faced me.

Without warning he threw a throwing knife from his belt, and I countered it with my own. I quickly made a mental note that while he has thirteen throwing knives left I only have eight. The cripple blinked, realizing my first attempt was not a fluke. Despite that he threw another knife with increased speed. As my left hand reached inside my dress and gripped a throwing knife the assassin starting sprinting while throwing another. My eyes widened, adrenaline rushing through my arms and pushing my hand to grab a second knife between different fingers and throw them _now_.

I heard the sounds of clashing metal from the knives thrown since I did not bother wasting time and energy to see if they were deflected; I am in too much danger for my aim to fuck up! All my concentration focused on the man getting alarmingly closer and closer. Suddenly he threw another knife only five yards away. I barely managed to counter throw it, and I immediately jumped back dodging a slash from the dagger the assassin equipped in a forward grip. I side-stepped while turning then leapt back again, dodging two quick strikes.

_ARM YOURSELF!_

Gritting my teeth, I tried to comply while still dodging the assassin's relentless attacks. Despite my dashing in circles to avoid the edge, he is keeping up with me!

_Duck, turn side-ways, jump back, dash to the left, jump back, turn side-ways, step back, leap to the left-_

The man stopped his attack midway, but my reflexes had already fallen for the bluff. My body dashed to my left while his hand changed to a backward grip. His long arm swung back to the right, the end of the blade aimed for my head. I ducked, but the dagger's tip caught my niqab, keeping it at its height while my head pulled out of it.

I gasped from the open air hitting my sweaty face. My eyes shot back up to my opponent's gaze. He's seen my face; he knows my face!

The sole of his boot hit my center chest. I flinched in surprise then pain when my head and back met the brick floor. My bent legs instinctively pulled in then pushed against the roof in an attempt to get me away from the danger. I willed my eyes to open with clear(ish) vision. Immediately the assassin's boot stomped my stomach.

I screamed while arching forward, and my hands grabbed his ankle trying to push it off. Of course it didn't work, and the man dug harder in retaliation. Panic rising, my right hand dove into the right flap, tightly gripped the dagger's hilt, yanked it into the open, and moved to stab the bastard's foot.

Eyes widening, he barely took his foot away in time, and the forceful action caused him to step back. My left hand quickly equipped three throwing knives and hurled. He jumped hard to the right dodging two knives, but one managed to lodge into his side. While he tumble rolled to a halt, I quickly got up and switched my dagger to my left hand in a backwards grip.

Glancing behind, the assassin saw that I was standing and promptly stood up, turning to me. He raised his armed hand, gripping his short blade in a backwards grip as well. I breathed heavily, adrenaline still pumping throughout my body. I began circling him, and he mimicked my movements, gradually getting closer and closer. I bet he thinks I don't notice, but I do.

Fresh beads of sweat rolled down my face, my gaze refusing to break with my opponents. Truly experienced, a veteran! He has remained calm this entire time. Disregarding the sun, I doubt I've caused him to break a sweat, _yet_.

Once we reached about four feet I leapt forward and struck fast and continuous. The older assassin blocked my aggressive assault, so after the fifth strike, my right hand fisted and went for his vulnerable side. I punched my throwing knife deeper into his side causing blood to spill. He finally yelled in pain and slashed at me. Not thinking, I blocked it then realized I _blocked_ it. My wrist strained to maintain hold of my weapon. The man pushed against my block with incredible strength, forcing me to step back and bring my right hand against my left wrist for support.

I grit my teeth trying to hold my ground. Suddenly his calculating eyes gleamed, and his launched all of his weight against me, pushing me away with ease. I stumbled backwards nearly falling, but I caught my balance in time.

The assassin sheathed his dagger and drew his sabre.

My eyes widened slightly in worry. My heartbeat pounded loudly in my ears. My arms and shoulders' muscles shook. There is no fucking way I can block his sword's strike using a dagger!

Grip tightening I tried to rationalize the situation. He is fast with knives; that's a fact. He is missing his left arm; that is also a fact. He should be slower with the sword, but that's an unknown. Though I'm assuming he wants to take me to Masyaf like the kid did, so he has not been trying to kill me this entire time- only wear me down… Oh… Oh, fuck- Why did I just now realize that?!

The assassin's body moved slightly, and I blinked. Suddenly, he stood in front of me, slashing for my left. I shouted surprised and jumped to the right. Before I could counter attack he slashed horizontally, forcing me to jump back to dodge. As soon as my feet landed he attacked again and again in smooth succession. I dodged the first two strikes, but the third managed to cut across my left shoulder.

Briefly screaming, I promptly changed hands with my dagger, but again the assassin gave no opportunity for me to attack his unguarded side, forcing me to stay on the defensive. Gradually my speed was decreasing, becoming evident by the increased and longer cuts ruining my clothes. I can't believe this man is even faster with a long blade than a short blade!

I recant that thought. No, it has nothing to do with speed considering the weight of the objects. My insides curled with recognition. He is more skilled with the sword than the dagger. He is far more skilled with his sword than I am with my dagger!

Sudden sharp, burning pain shot through my right forearm from not dodging fast enough again. I screamed from the gushing cut and tightly clutched the upper arm to slow the blood flow. Before I could recover the assassin kicked me in the chest, knocking me on my back again. Involuntarily losing all feeling and closing my eyes, my mouth opened breathing hard from exhaustion, but at least my mind is still working…

I have enough experience to know that the new wound is deep enough to hinder my reflexes. A lot. Guess the fucker wants to finish capturing me now. My empty fists tightened at the notion. I am not going to a new location just to be executed later rather than sooner!

A tight grip on the front of my garb caused my eyes to open, and the assassin pulled me up to stand and maintained his hold on me since I was having trouble. My mind started thinking again. This man is gripping my clothes and he has only one hand, so his sabre is probably in its scabbard… Yep. My dagger and sword are somewhere on the rooftop, and I have three throwing knives left. I am exhausted and wounded, my clothes are ruined, and I am fairly certain these assassins know where the rental house is located and will not make the same mistake a second time. All in all, my situation and options look fucked.

I took in a much needed relaxing breath and sighed.

The assassin raised an eyebrow.

"_NEVER GIVE UP! The moment you do, _they_ win. _They _have _broken_ you. IF I EVER CATCH YOU GIVING UP, I WILL KILL YOU MYSELF, LITTLE-GIRL!"_

"Do you surrender?"

"_Remember, Kifah: your arms and legs are separate limbs! They do not feel the others' pain. Use that to your advantage."_

I gave a weak laugh. "Allah. And I thought Tazim was a pain in the ass!"

As expected, his brows furrowed and anger filled his eyes. Another spike of adrenaline shot through me, and with as much strength as my body could spare, I kneed his loins.

The man's mouth shot open in a silent scream from pain I'd rather not imagine. It was also enough to widen and soften his dark eyes. The assassin's grip on my dress slacked, and with another adrenaline rush I pulled back, breaking free of his grasp. Before he could respond I swiftly dropped to the ground and kicked through his legs, causing him to fall backwards. More adrenaline pumped through me as reward. Taking advantage of this, I sprinted away and jumped onto another building.

I kept free-running and leaping between rooftops. I started thinking. What am I going to do now? There is no telling how many of those assassins are in the city. Did they discover where I have been residing? Surely based on that boy's attitude. Are any of them there right now? I don't know. I need to get out of the city. How? I need another carriage, but surely they learned from last time and are keeping spies at all of Damascus' exits. At least, that is what I would do. Tazim gave them my description. Where will I go from here? Can I walk out of here? With all the shit I came with, fuck no! Can I escape in my current condition?

_No._

My legs gradually slowed down to a halt, the weight of the situation, the blood loss, and the exhaustion finally bearing down. I stared at nothing.

_NO!_ There has got to be a way for me to get out of this! I re-evaluated all the factors, all the scenarios despite my mind starting to lighten.

My pounding heartbeat became noticeable again. I blinked and looked up at the blue sky.

_Old-Man… I don't want to give up. Shazeb… there is only so much my body can handle right now. Mother-_ I swallowed a choke. _I lived by killing men, so it's no surprise that men will kill me._

Memories of my father and Old-Man's murders flashed. I grit my teeth and glowered with newfound rage and determination, looking back at the city. _But not today. God forbid I don't die fighting and take as many people down with me to Hell!_

I resumed free-running. The odds in the long run are not favorable, so for now I should concentrate on more current objectives. Objective one: reach the rooftop garden where my bag and male clothes are hidden. I can wrap my wounds with the shreds of my dress before wearing them.

A bright reflection caught my peripheral vision, and out of curiosity I looked at the source. Despite my eyes widening ridiculously from shock, my left hand still grabbed a throwing knife and threw it at the oncoming one. Due to the distance it was thrown, they hit and countered safely. But I kept running until I reached behind a tower, pressing against it to catch my breath.

"Kifah!" the older assassin called out.

I gulped trying to calm my breath. After a few seconds it was still shaky- Oh, no… I looked down at the ground. My right arm was leaving a decent blood trail; the sleeve was already soaked. Neck muscles straining, I crept to the other side of the wall.

"Kifah! That gash was deeper than I intended! You need stitches! _Now_!"

Fuck, he is on the same building. Goddamn blood!

Dashing away from the tower I sprinted away, and the sounds of the full grown man's footsteps were coming within earshot. Looking around the city my mind tried to decide the best route for escape. While he is crippled, my right arm is practically useless, and I am sure he is used to that kind of handicap more than me.

I jumped across separate support beams reaching the building on the other side. I kept sprinting. His dress is that of an assassin. He looks like an assassin. I am dressed like a woman who is running for her dear life, and I am. Hmm…

Spotting some stacked boxes I leapt down them then continued sprinting down the streets. Soon enough I spotted a small group of patrol guards and yelled for their help.

"HE'S TRYING TO MURDER ME! HE'S MAD!" I managed to voice while running past them. Right on time the assassin was coming, but I heard the soldiers' protesting voices and discerned that they blocked his way. They have no chance, but it should give me a little time.

I skid around a corner, refusing to lighten up despite my body feeling lighter. I entered a broad alleyway. A sudden loud thump landed behind me, and I glanced behind to investigate.

"HOLD!" the boy shouted then came after me.

For the love of fucking- I turned my head forward and kept running. My heartbeat must be beating impossibly fast because I can't even feel it anymore. I spotted another adjacent alleyway and turned to enter its mouth. Suddenly I jerked to a stop, falling on my rear. Turning, my eyes widened upon seeing a sword buried through the stretched lower back of my dress and stuck into the dirt ground.

The boy had hurled the sword! From three yards away apparently, and he was quickly advancing towards me. Panic rising, I completely turned and gripped the sword's handle to pull it out. Pull! PULL! My arms collapsed.

My eyes darted back to the boy only one yard away. NO! Desperate I stood up and pulled away from the pinned portion of my dress. My left arm grabbed at the cloth and yanked it in haste. The young assassin got close enough and jumped me, causing us both to fall to the ground.

A small tear sound spread through the alleyway. After making a mental note of it, I immediately started punching across the kid's face and trying to kick him off, but his knees rested between my thighs. He punched back in retaliation and busted my lip. I spat the blood in his eyes, stunning him for a second. I took advantage of it and kicked his lower back as hard as I could with the heels of my feet. He arched forward in surprised pain, and I punched the bruised spot on his stomach with my right hand then across his jaw with my left. This knocked his head against the wall and his upper body to the side and off of me. I quickly sat upward and pushed his lower body off of me.

Standing up I approached the stuck sword and kicked it. I kicked it again, harder, and the tip of the blade finally loosened and leaned at a weak angle. This allowed me to easily pull my dress free and pop the sword from the ground.

I resumed running down the alleyway and past the boy, but I felt a force grab my stretched dress again, slowing me to a halt. Looking back I realized he had recovered from the hit, and both his fists held onto my garb as if his life depended on it. The boy snarled and actually pulled it towards himself, lifting one hand at a time to grab more cloth. To my disbelief I could feel him pulling me, and I turned back to the opposite direction and pushed my legs forward.

Within seconds we came to a stand still, pulling at opposite directions with equal strength. My legs began to shake, the adrenaline wearing off, but I pressed on. Steadily I lift my right foot, planted it forward, and pulled the rest of my body to its location.

The loud, piercing long tear of cloth rang in my ears, and the event was confirmed by the immediately disappearance of the boy's force and my falling hard to the floor in effect.

I groaned in pain. I think I burned my knees and palms and worsened my forearm's injury. I sincerely debated whether I should kill the boy to make me feel better or just run.

"Uh…" A sound mixed of a grunt, surprise, and apprehension alerted me that said kid was standing up.

Rolling onto my back, I slowly leaned up on my elbows. Instead of attacking me again the young assassin stood dumbfounded and clearly embarrassed with a heavily blushing face. Raising a curious eyebrow, I followed his gaze towards what was so fascinating and looked at my dress' skirt, shredded and torn in half, bunched around my upper thighs due to my bending, spread knees- OH, MY GOD!

My knees immediately closed and lowered touching the ground, causing my upper body to completely sit up. Scorching heat spread across my face and down my neck, and I vigorously pulled down my shortened dress to regain my modesty. But the damage was already done.

The boy finally snapped out of his shocked state and sputtered apologies.

"Oh, God! I-I am so sorry! It-Uh- I didn't mean- It-it was an accident! I am really sorry!"

I have no idea what overcame me, but I suddenly shut my eyes and shrieked in the highest pitch I have ever attempted.

After several seconds I finished and opened my eyes. The kid had covered his ears but was now uncovering them, and he was avoiding my gaze. Still embarrassed myself, I hesitantly stood up and pulled my remaining dress down as far as it could. For the most part, it reached just above my knees.

Suddenly we both heard footsteps coming from his direction, and our heads turned to it. I cursed under my breath upon recognizing the high ranked assassin. He was covered in the blood of the guards. And no doubt my stupid emotional outburst led him here.

The lower ranked assassin completely turned to him, concerned. "Are you okay?"

"What are you doing here?!"

My killer instinct erupted seeing the boy's back. Grabbing a throwing knife, I swiftly stalked to him and grabbed his left wrist with my left hand, twisting and pulling it behind his back while my right hand rested the small knife very close to his neck's artery.

The boy yelled in pain but stilled when he felt the steel against his quickening pulse.

"Darim!" the man yelled in worry and took a step forward.

"Don't even think about it!" I warned, pressing a little harder.

His face darkened, eyes turning hard and furious, but he remained still for the boy's sake.

"So, your name is Darim, huh?" I rhetorically asked the kid. "Mixed boy with an Arabic name. Your father must be Muslim while your mother is an infidel."

I could feel his body temperature rise from rage. "Don't insult my mother!"

I pressed the knife a little harder, hearing a small hitch of breath from the boy. "Remember who you are dealing with. As for you, sir, you are going to let me walk out of this alleyway or else I slit his throat."

The man nodded his head once in agreement. Slowly I took a step back, forcing the boy to follow. I maintained eye contact with the greater threat, watching for any signs that he would fuck up.

The sounds of oblivious people walking and talking in the streets grew louder, indicating I was near the exit. The boy's neck muscles pressed harder against the knife. My gaze switched to him, wondering why he was leaning towards the knife-

His right elbow hit my bruised stomach. The pain stunned me for a second, and the boy elbowed again then pulled his left arm free. Before I could recover and kill him, he ran to the wall and flattened his back against it.

"MALIK!"

My left hand instinctively rested against my stomach, and I redirected my attention to the other assassin. My right hand immediately threw its knife, countering his, and they redirected to the alleyway's walls. Thinking fast I grabbed the nearby boy by his clothes and hurled him in front of me. While he was still surprised I kicked the middle of his back as hard as I could. The boy stumbled forward, colliding with the older man, who had been running towards us as soon as he threw his knife. I turned around and ran out of the alleyway as fast as I could and through the streets.

Careful to not run into anyone, I also looked at the people's clothes and the buildings and realized I had reached the Rich District, finally! Now I need to return to the rooftops and find that garden.

The sweat-drenched hairs on the back of my neck suddenly shot up, and I glanced behind me. The one-armed assassin was catching up to me again! YOU HAVE GOT TO BE KIDDING ME!

I turned my head forward and noticed several military platoons around the area, as expected from being in the Rich District.

"GUARDS, HELP! I'M BEING CHASED BY A RAPIST!" I screamed.

That received all of their attention as well as the people within earshot, and one look at my torn dress convinced them all. Easily identifying the assassin chasing after me, about twenty guards ran to block his way then wielded their swords, determined to execute the "rapist."

I kept running, dodging the shocked citizens that were in my way. I spotted stacked boxes on the right side, and I moved across the street and jumped up them. Once I reached the highest crate, I grabbed the edge of the building's roof, and despite the agony my arms pulled me up and onto the rooftop. I rolled over, breathing even harder. My head barely feels like it is there, and I still can't register my heartbeat. My right arm is starting to feel numb. I really want to sleep.

_Keep moving!_

Groaning I slowly pushed myself back onto my feet. Straightening my back I looked around. I think I know where I am. I turned northeast and free-ran.

I don't know how many buildings I jumped across; I don't know how long it took me to reach the garden; I can't even figure out what time it is in my current state. But I looked inside the garden structure and spotted the leather bag. Relieved I jumped inside, unclasped the belt holding the empty scabbard then peeled off my sweat and blood drenched dress. My left shoulder had stopped bleeding, but the escaped blood had trailed down and dried. Another foot-shaped bruise was forming on my stomach. As for my right forearm, the deep gash was still bleeding dark red and revealing muscle, and my lower arm and hand were coated in blood. Son of a bitch!

Tearing long strips from my dress, I wrapped them around my injuries. I also tightly tied a cloth around the middle of my upper right arm, hoping it would slow down the bleeding. Using the remnants of my feminine clothes I wiped as much blood as I could off of me. Finally, I grabbed my masculine clothes and put them on.

Jumping out of the garden, I realized I made a rare mistake earlier that will keep me from leaving the city. I forgot to fill my money pouch.

If I had enough spare energy, I would have stomped my foot in frustration. I can't believe it- This can't be happening! I need money to buy medicine. I need money to buy a needle and surgical thread. I need money to buy food. I need money to buy traveling clothes. I need to steal more knives and a new weapon.

"God damn it!" I cursed, making up my mind. I jogged further down the rooftop, and eventually located the rental house. Jumping down I landed roughly on my feet. I took a few seconds to recover then approached the back entrance to the home. I opened the door and entered, looking for any sign of disturbances. Spotting none, I went to the kitchen.

As soon as I get the money I need to get out and far away from this place- "AH!" I screamed and fell to the floor.

_Oh, my head!_ I instinctively crawled on the floor despite losing my vision. My head feels like it's split open…

I felt a hand grab my shoulder and flip me over. I groaned at the action, and I felt my mask pulled up to reveal my face to the attacker. Blinking my eyes, small spaces of light started to form, but black shadows still made most of my vision. Then I heard a snapping sound very nearby. I think it's above my face, actually.

"…you still conscious?" An unrecognizable male voice asked, snapping his fingers again. This bastard was hiding and waiting for me to return!

I tried to speak, but my throat hurts so much…

The intruder reached under my arms and pulled me up, leaning me against something. I leaned over to the side. _Oh, God-_ I threw up on the floor. Great. Now my throat's burning, and my mouth tastes foul!

Miraculously my vision slowly started to clear, and after spitting the remnants out I looked towards the assassin. His clothes and even his equipment are exactly like Tazim's when I first met him. No sword; just throwing knives, gloves, and probably a dagger on his back and a hidden blade in his left vambrace. However, he looks close to thirty.

I am going to fucking murder him.

I bent my legs in, pushing to lean on them. Stabilizing my squat, I suddenly growled and jumped the assassin, grabbing his hips and pulling him to the floor. He yelled in surprise then yelped when his head banged against the counters on the way down. I landed on top of him and reached into my clothes. Equipping my last throwing knife, I raised it eager to stab him to death.

As my knife came down, a powerful hand caught my wrist just above the intruder's face. Shocked I looked behind to identify the reinforcement.

The cripple narrowed his eyes and yanked my arm back, pulling me off of the other assassin.

"NO!" I shrieked, thrashing to try and break free. The older assassin's grip tightened, eliciting another scream as I dropped my throwing knife. The other assassin finally recovered and stood up. He walked over to us and gripped the front of my shirt, pulling me onto my feet.

My eyes widened from seeing his right fist rise, and I instinctively kicked his crotch. He yelled in pain, unable to throw the punch. Before I could attack further, the one-armed man slammed me against the wall. I gasped from hitting my already damaged head, and the older assassin released my wrist and turned me over so my back is against the wall. My head rolled. I cannot produce anymore adrenaline.

Without saying a word, _Malik_ did an uppercut, hitting under my chin. And I lost all senses.

* * *

**The accidental V-flash was inspired by one of The Fox Familiar's ideas: her review for ****Ch.**** 2, specifically.**

* * *

**Lunatic Glare:** _That should be corrected. Thank you for the info and advice! I found out that Arabs did not have coins of their own until the 8th century into the Byzantine-Arab wars, and they adopted the Byzantine minting coin process and started making their own coins. I've rewritten in the applications into previous chapters and given the descriptions of the currency in Ch. 2._


	10. Delivery

_Sitting down, I stared at the wall with the huge crack before me. Grabbing another small rock, I threw it, hitting closer to the middle of the crack than before. I have been doing this for forever, but there's nothing really for me to do until Mommy comes home._

_I _could_ go asking people for money, but Mommy says that's too dangerous for me to do by myself. No idea why, but she says so. So, I won't do it._

_I threw another rock, but it was heavier than I expected. It didn't even reach the wall. Frowning, I got up to get it and the others back._

"_Hey! What are you doing here?"_

_Done picking up my rocks, I turned to the source of the voice. A boy my size was running towards me. I waved a free hand at him._

_He stopped before me and looked annoyed for some reason. "What are you doing here?" he repeated. "This is not your spot."_

Huh?

_He continued, "Me and my friends meet here to play. You're not my friend, so you're not allowed here!"_

_I didn't respond but kept looking at him. What is he talking about?_

_He became even more annoyed. "Well, are you going to leave or what? Huh?!"_

Uh…

"_Are you dumb?" he suddenly wondered, leaning close to my face. I immediately backed away. Ew!_

_The boy made an ugly face at me. "My big brother says that people who can't talk properly are dumb, but you aren't even talking! So that makes you _really_ dumber," he said proudly after figuring it out._

_My eyebrows knit together while the corners of my mouth lowered. Why is he insulting me?_

_He suddenly pushed me, making me fall back on my butt. I flinched in surprise and pain coming from my hands. That hurt!_

"_Go away already, dummy!"_

_I looked up at him, and he is still making an ugly face at me. My lower lip began to tremble as my chest increasingly hurt. I'm not dumb! I'm really not! I...I'm not..._

_Lowering my head to ignore him, I got on my knees and picked up my fallen rocks. My palms stung from grabbing them, and I discovered they were scraped and bleeding a little. Once all six rocks were placed in the sash wrapped around my waist, I rose to stand on my feet. Giving one last look to the boy, I turned around and began walking away._

"_That's right, dummy. Run away like a dog! I bet your parents are cowards just like you!"_

_My stride roughly stopped. What did he say? My head turned past my shoulder with my mouth slightly open._

_The boy did not expect this, but he continued his acting. "What are you looking at?!"_

_Lips still separated my teeth clenched together. My chest and head got hotter. _

_Nobody insults my parents!_

_My left hand reached into the sash, searching for the biggest rock while I completely turned to face the boy. His look changed, surprised by my change in behavior. Then he started looking around- probably for his friends he said was coming._

_There it is! I pulled out the biggest and heaviest rock and threw it as hard as I could. Still looking for his friends, the side of his face faced me when I threw the rock, and it hit the area between his right eye and ear. After a brief cry he fell over and stopped moving._

_Walking over to him to get my rock back, I saw that he's just asleep even though the side of his face is bleeding._

_Suddenly, I heard a few voices belonging to children getting closer and closer. I quickly grabbed the rock and ran away from the scene. I should probably stay away from this area..._

_After several alleyways and turns I entered a hidden garden to catch my breath. I sat on the tall bench, my feet barely reaching the ground, but I was having fun swinging them back and forth._

_I honestly don't know why I don't talk anymore. Well, I talk to Mommy, but that's it. I don't want to talk to anyone else... except Daddy._

_My eyes started to hurt along with my chest. I wish I told him I was sorry, but now he is gone forever..._

_I swung both legs forward and jumped off the bench, running back under the sunlight and straight for home._

_I will not let that happen to me and Mommy!_

_The sun shined even brighter..._

Streaks of painfully bright light crept past my eyelashes and into my barely opened eyes. Even though I immediately shut my eyes, it was enough to start waking me up. My mind became more alert, registering many signals that are confusing my groggy state.

Something is wrapped around my wrists- I tried moving them- and keeping them bound, and it feels like rope. What in the- Ow! My neck and back are cramping like crazy, and my head is pressed against something itchy, sweaty, and smelly… and I cannot pull away from it.

A sudden wave of nausea hit me, making my throat constrict and my eyes opened wide in full alert. Before I realized what was happening, I leaned to the side and vomited.

"What in the world?!"

Inwardly cringing, I spat out the remnants at the moving ground… _What_?

"Darim, be quiet."

I swiftly raised my head, and dark spots clouded my vision along with a headache as a result. _Goddamn it!_

"But she just threw up for no reason!"

My eyes closed tightly trying to will the pain and another creeping wave of nausea away.

"_Novice_, I said be quiet."

My eyes shot open. I recognize those voices! The boy and… My cheeks heated up as the memories flooded back. That cripple knocked me out! How long ago was that? Where am I?

Opening my mouth to demand what is going on, the clear sight of the back of a horse's neck and mane shocked me into silence.

"…Yes, master."

Gaze shifting faster than my heavy head could manage, my surroundings increasingly indicated that not only am I indeed tied up, but my hands are tied together around a horse's neck, my fucking feet are tied to the… I think they are called stirrups, and I cannot bring my head more than two inches away from this horse's brown hair! It's tickling the shit out of me! Best of all, I am surrounded by three assassins in the middle of a fucking forest!

And the unsteady rocking and- I am this high up and rocking this much?! I'm going to fall off!

The brown coated horse shook its strong neck and head and snorted loudly.

I screeched.

"What?" the one-armed assassin asked clearly annoyed, but I could not care less right now!

"It… did something!" I exclaimed. Abruptly, the animal stretched out its neck and head and made a loud, high pitched sound. "Why is it doing that? Is it going to throw me off?!" It did it again.

_GET ME OFF OF THIS CREATURE!_

An unidentified voice answered, "If you keep fidgeting like that, she will. Calm down, woman! You are just riding a horse."

My head sharply turned to the third assassin riding a grey horse about two yards behind me. "Shut up! I have never been this close to a horse in my life!...Wait a mi- You're the one who ambushed me in my house!" My struggling intensified with the desire to get revenge. "Get over here so I can kick your ass, you little bitch!"

He stared at me incredulously. "What in God's name has possessed you?"

"Be. QUIET!" the oldest assassin suddenly yelled and pulled the reins back, causing his black horse to slow down until it walked close and parallel to the left of my horse. Before anyone could respond he set down the reins and freed his sabre.

The sharp tip reached my exposed neck, and I promptly stilled to avoid harm.

He looks furious… Hmm, I wonder what Tazim meant to him.

"Remember who you are dealing with," he quoted. "And if you agitate the horse and cause your own death, no one here will pity you. So, be still, be silent, and behave," he gave his warning, but the long sword did not go away.

I glanced at it then back to his eyes.

This is going to be painful.

"…May I have my hands bound behind me so I can sit up properly?"

The assassin glared, but he did sheath his weapon. His hand returned to his horse's reins and pulled back until the animal came to a halt. The two younger assassins followed his lead, and I finally noticed my horse's right rein was tied to the boy's saddle. Once the boy's white horse stopped next to my horse, the leading assassin surprisingly did not dismount.

"Rushdi!"

The assassin who hit me in the head dismounted. He quickly approached me then shot a threatening glare. I bit the inside of my lip, resisting the urge to fight. Now is definitely not the time.

Satisfied with my lack of reaction, he did quick work untying my hands, and I cooperated by moving them behind my back while slowly sitting up and stretching my cramped back and neck. Several audible cracks filled the air. Oh, that felt good!

Still, I forced myself to stay completely still while the bastard bound my hands tightly again. Thoughts upon thoughts raced through my mind, desperate to come up with a valid escape plan. My eyes darted from the assassins to the vegetation to the sky and to the barely noticeable trail we are on. I deeply inhaled the fresh air to calm my thoughts.

Finished, the assassin returned to the grey horse and mounted. The cripple brushed his feet along his horse's sides, and it started moving. The boy and the other higher ranked assassin motivated their horses after him, and we resumed our journey to Masyaf.

I still hate that I am rocking this much on top of a horse. I sighed. On the bright side, I do not feel like I'm going to throw up anymore, and my head feels normal again.

I barely turned my head to study the assassins escorting me. Great. One is not worth the effort to kill, one is fair game, and one ironically requires too much effort to kill. Yet they know where we are right now; I don't. I am assuming they know how to survive and navigate in the wilderness, at least until they reach some form of civilization; I don't. Also, I do not see dried blood or cuts on the cripple and boy's clothes anymore, so they probably had their wounds attended to and changed into fresh uniforms.

Remembering all the injuries I sustained, I instinctively looked at my arms and stomach. I am still wearing my masculine clothes, but… my holsters are missing! Shit! I feel so naked without them…

But in any case, I cannot see the damaged flesh. Wait… they feel like they have been attended, very professionally too.

The bottom of my left eye twitched. Their leader really wants me delivered to them. Just what was Tazim working on?!

Looking up at the sky, I judged by the sunlight obscured by the trees that it is far into the day, so there will not be much time before we have to stop. While I have no idea where Masyaf is located, there is no way we are even close to it. I have been hit until unconscious before, and that cripple's uppercut made me sleep for several hours at most!

I looked down at the horse, already bored despite the situation I am in.

I never knew horses felt this powerful.

**The Protector**

"Don't move," the boy warned, trying to be intimidating. It did not work.

Regardless, I obeyed and waited as the young assassin untied my feet from the stirrups. The sun should take another hour to set, but with these trees blocking its remaining light it is already rather dark.

Darim finished, placing the rope in his pouch while stepping back. I raised an eyebrow at him. I saw how he and the others dismounted from the horses. I need my hands to do the same without falling.

He narrowed his eyes. "I am not freeing your hands."

Prick! I scowled but prepared myself for this. I tentatively pulled my left foot out then swung it barely over the horse's rump. Now leaning forward on my right foot against the saddle while my freed foot dangled against it, I wondered how I was going to do this without falling over.

For the love of my sanity, I must look ridiculous right now! Time to get off- My right foot slipped out. The falling still surprised me, and I yelled before my feet hit the ground. Completely off balance, I tried stumbling backwards to regain it. But it did not work, and I quickly fell back on my ass.

The assassins in truly professional manner did not laugh, though I heard a suppressed titter from the boy. My face reddened in embarrassment anyway. I forced myself to stand, and the numbness of my bottom and sore thighs became noticeable. I started walking in circles to try and loosen the muscles.

The boy curiously asked, "What are you doing?"

"_Allah_, I had no idea riding a horse would hurt this much!" I complained without stopping my walk. There is no telling how many hours straight I was on that animal!

Rushdi stopped talking to Malik in a foreign tongue and looked towards me. "You have never ridden a horse before?"

"Now whatever gave you that impression?" I could not help but answer sarcastically.

Both similarly dressed assassins glared at me, but the younger of the two continued his questioning.

"But you are an assassin, and you traveled to Damascus from Jerusalem."

Tired of walking in circles, I began jumping up and down. "I paid a man to take me to Damascus by his carriage. That is how I reached the city." Satisfied, I stood still. "And how does being a freelancer guarantee I have ever ridden a horse? Actually, every kill I made happened in Jerusalem now that I think about it…" I tilted my head in thought.

He stared at me again, but I could not read his expression. Tazim and his colleagues must have been trained to do that.

After several seconds the assassin turned to the cripple and said something in a foreign language again.

The older assassin narrowed his eyes, but they did not turn harsh. "He will resolve this dilemma, not us. Go to sleep; I will keep first watch."

Though not really satisfied, the lower rank nodded his head and helped the boy lead the horses off of the trail.

The cripple gracefully walked behind me and pushed my back. Getting the message, I walked forward to follow the others to the resting spot. The four horses were just standing there, and the youngest assassin was already lying on the ground trying to sleep while the other sat against a tree.

The one-armed man strolled past me and gestured with his hooded head.

"Go to sleep."

I looked at the forest floor. I guess it cannot be worse than sleeping on a bench.

Choosing a spot not too close to the horses but not to close to the men either, I plopped down and laid on my back. Ow, my hands are digging into my back! I rolled onto my side, but it focused the pressure and strain on my upper arm. Desperate, I rolled onto my stomach.

This is not working. Groaning, I got up to sit crossed legged. My upper body lowered until my face rested against my knees, and I sighed deeply to relax my muscles.

I closed my eyes.

Insects started to make sounds. One of the horses breathed audibly through its nose. The leading assassin finally sat on the ground. The air started to turn cool. My stomach growled. My thoughts for escape began to turn frantic.

This is going to be a long night…

**The Protector**

"_One... and... nine... can't... make... ten... But... ten... and... ten... can... make... one... hun... dred..."_

_I repeated the weird verse, throwing a stone for each word. I don't remember where I heard it from. Actually, I probably heard it in Acre, but I definitely don't remember who I heard it from. Or maybe I just made it up a long time ago and forgot that I did! Eh. Who knows, who cares?_

_I continued retrieving and throwing my rocks. I tried following Mommy to her job earlier. I was being really sneaky too, but she somehow caught me!_

_My butt still hurts._

"_Hey, you!"_

_My right arm froze at the familiar voice. I looked for the source and saw the boy from several days ago, and he brought four boys with him._

_I dropped my rocks and sprinted in the opposite direction._

_The boys immediately started chasing after me; I could hear them. A part of me wants to remain in the alleyways and their twists and turns and hidden gardens, but a part of me wants to get into the main streets to lose them. I don't know which one will work better!_

_Panicked, my feet decided for me, and I skidded around a corner and entered another alleyway._

"_Get back here, coward!" a deeper voice commanded._

Yeah, that's not going to happen! _Turning again, a set of running feet started to get louder and louder. Instinctively I glanced behind me, and my eyes widened in fear. The biggest kid was catching up to me! He looks like he's ten, or even _eleven_!_

_I returned my sight to the front in time to see the concrete wall before I ran into it._

_I screamed, falling down. I started to cry._

_Suddenly, my shoulder was grabbed roughly, and I was forced to turn around. The big-kid had caught up to me first._

_His fist rose, eager to hit me. "This is for my little brother-" His face suddenly changed, and his fist slowly lowered._

_The other boys finally reached us. The last one was heaving because he is fat._

_I had stopped making noises as soon as they appeared, but I'm still crying from the pain, especially coming from my nose and forehead._

_The big-kid released my shoulder and turned to the others. "Latif, you didn't say you were beat by a little girl!"_

Latif_ froze in embarrassment. "I-Uh... Well, it-"_

_The fat kid started laughing. Wait, why does he sound like a girl?_

"_Latif's a liar! He got beat by a girl!" the fat- girl?- started chanting._

"_Shut up, Aram!" he shouted at the- confirmed- girl. "Quit being a blabbermouth!"_

Allah, she is fat and ugly!

_Latif's big brother turned back to me and scratched the back of his head. "I'm still mad that you spilled my brother's blood, but he deserves it for losing to someone like you. No hard feelings?" he held out his hand._

_I sniffled and wiped my tears away. They finally dried up._

_I looked back and forth between the hand and the big-kid's eyes. I still don't trust him, but I don't want to insult him either._

_Coming up with a neutral response, I smiled but shook my head in polite refusal. I stood up and brushed the dirt off of my clothes._

_He pulled back his hand. Latif crossed his arms and huffed, not happy that his brother decided to not get back at me for him. Too bad._

"_So, are you _really_ really dumb?" the fat girl suddenly asked, standing close to me._

_I recoiled and backed away._

_Latif looked offended. "Hey, I didn't lie about that! She's too dumb to talk."_

_I glared at him. "Fuck you."_

_Everybody gasped._

"_Oooo... You said a forbidden word!" another boy teased._

_I blinked, surprised at this revelation._

"_She cursed... That is so cool!"_

_The big brother shouted, "Ihtisham, that is not cool! Take it back, or I will tell on you!"_

_Ihtisham's eyes widened. "I take it back! I take it back!"_

"_She cursed! She cursed! She cursed!"_

"_Aram, shut up!"_

_Thank Allah she obeyed the big-kid. Speaking of which, he returned his attention to me, towering over my short height. "I should hit you for cursing!"_

_I defended myself, "I did not know f-... that word was a forbidden word. Honest! I just heard a guard say it to another guard and imitated them."_

"_Come on, Fakhir! Hit her. She said fuck- Oops!" Latif quickly covered his mouth._

_Everybody except me gasped. Aram started chanting that he cursed, too._

_Fakhir snapped, "That's it! Both of you are getting punished." He grabbed both of our arms and slammed us side-by-side against the same wall._

_I flinched. He's so strong; he's got to be eleven!_

_Suddenly, his fist dug against my left temple making my head push against Latif's head that was being pushed by Fakhir's other fist. He ground our heads together this way for several painful seconds._

"_Owowowowow!"_

_I kept my mouth shut._

_Finally, the punishment was over, and me and Latif hastily separated and rubbed our hurting heads. The two other boys and girl laughed at us._

_The big-kid shook his head briefly._

"_But seriously, little girl. My name is Fakhir, obviously. What's your name?"_

_I hesitated. "...My name is-"_

"_WHAT ARE YOU BRATS DOING BACK HERE?!" An angry guard yelled at us._

_All our eyes widened in fear from being caught._

"_Run!" the smallest boy sprinted first._

"_Everybody, follow Ishaq! He knows this part of the district best," Fakhir instructed and followed after him._

_Even though I was running from the children just a while ago, now I am running with them away from the guards._

_I think I just made my first friends in this city, I hope!_

An unrelenting itch stirred my slumber, slowly forcing me awake. My arm tried to move to scratch the itch per reflex, but this reminded me of my captive state instead. My eyes easily blinked open due to the lack of sunlight, and I studied my surroundings as my vision adjusted to the dark.

After rubbing my itching nose with my knee, I slowly raised my back, which became cramped again. I stretched it along with my neck. That became cramped, too. I should have asked for the assassin to tie my hands in front of me instead of behind me!

The resulting cracks caused the assassin on watch to turn his head to me. The ruffling of his hood alerted me of his action, and I returned the inquisitive stare. The boy is on watch now. No surprise, really, if he just now caught on to my awakening instead of when I fucking _sat up_. He really is a novice.

I looked behind me at the horses grouped together. They were still standing, but two of them were awake while the other two remained completely still. Do horses sleep standing up?

"It's impossible, you know."

My attention returned to the boy. Isn't this fucker talkative! "What is?" I whispered back.

He stated as if a matter of fact, "Escape. It is impossible for you to escape, so don't even think about trying to!"

"I was not," I partially told the truth.

"Horseshit," he snapped back.

I smirked. "Relax, 'novice.' I am awake now, but that does not mean anything." His body language indicated anger at the use of his rank's title.

I continued before the boy could respond, "And even if I did manage to escape your two friends, where the fuck am I going to go? I literally have no idea where we are right now. I was raised in cities my entire life. I do not know how to travel, much less survive, in the wilderness. Right now, my best chance is to stay with you assassins until I spot a village or town. _That_ is when I will attempt to escape."

It took all of my willpower not to laugh at the boy's expression of disbelief I am imagining in my mind. If there was enough light for me to actually see it, I would probably lose control!

After several awkward moments, he spoke. "I can't believe I am saying this, but I think Tazim was wrong. You're stupid."

My amusement was gone. "Excuse me?"

"You just explained your situational background and escape plan to me! A clever person does not do that."

I paused at this explanation. "…Tazim said I was clever?"

The boy starred deadpan. I could _feel_ it.

I could not contain my laughter anymore, but I kept it low so not to wake the other assassins.

"Kid-"

"My name is Darim," he grumbled.

I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. "Fine. _Darim_, I am going to ask you a question, and I want you to answer truthfully… Do you trust me?"

He was taken aback by the rhetorical question. "No."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

"Are you sure?"

"I already said yes.

"Are you _really_ sure?" I pressed.

"For Christ's sake, yes!"

"Then how can you trust that the information I gave you is true?"

The boy visibly froze. Then I could see it; I could see the thoughts of doubt infect his mind and processing and updating his initial plans.

"I hate you," he concluded.

My knowing smirk returned. "I am very well aware of that. So, do you wish to keep talking? As much as I want to slit your, along with your 'brothers'' throats open, I can't do that right now, and I learned a long time ago that talking passes the time quite a bit."

His adolescent muscles contorted further in anger. Maybe I went too far with mentioning the desire to murder them…

The assassin forcefully crossed his arms over his chest and lifted his chin. "Yes, murderess. Let's talk. Why did you kill Tazim?"

Oh, not this again. This time I did roll my eyes. "Pass."

"You can't pass!" he whined.

My facial features darkened as I glowered at the kid. Time to further fuck with him.

"Oh? You can't properly interrogate me. Hell, you cannot interrogate me at all. You are a kid; you are a novice; you are fresh meat. I am an experienced hot and cold blooded killer; I am spoiled. If it was not for that God forsaken _gimp_, you would be dead right now. Did the thought that I, or really anyone, would not kill you because you are still a child ever cross your mind? If so, then you are foolish and deserve death. I have been attacked by boys as young as _ten _with the intention of killing me, and I did not just kill them- I _murdered_ them in a heartbeat without mercy. That is how you should treat your enemies. Also, I refuse to waste my energy answering a question that will be asked of me later by your Order's leader. _He_ deserves my response, not an _ant_," I finished my speech and looked away from the mortified boy.

Several seconds passed, but he never voiced a response to that. I doubted he ever would until he grew up.

Something moved in my peripheral vision and evidently the boy's vision as we both turned to look at the source. The cripple is awake, and he looks frustrated.

Darim and I froze. Our conversation must have woken him. How much did he hear?

"Darim, go back to sleep."

He immediately protested, "But it's still my watch-"

"I am already awake, and I cannot return to slumber. You will fall back asleep if you lay down. Might as well not waste the opportunity," the older manipulated.

The young assassin completely fell for it. He curtly nodded and thanked the master, and he crawled back to his sleeping spot near Rushdi, who looks absolutely gone in sleep.

Malik rose and walked to the spot where the boy was, so he is sitting closest to me now.

Now I am a little confused. Back in Damascus the boy's attitude towards the cripple was more informal. At least, that is the impression I got. But twice now he has addressed him as "master," and I doubt it is the kind that owns slaves or the kind that leads their entire guild. The cripple must not just be high ranking, but a teacher as well. Or they have to act more professional in front of a prisoner. I do not know.

I looked forward, keeping my attention on the ground to study the dirt and ignore the new watchman. I doubt he will succumb to my mind games.

…Much time passed with me sitting still, staring at the dirt. The cripple has not moved either, but I can sense him watching and listening to the surroundings.

Seriously though, how the fuck am I going to escape? Actually- first things first: how the fuck am I going to free my hands?!

The assassin unexpectedly stood from his spot and strolled over to me. I looked up at him, but before I could say anything he hauled me up by my left arm and started dragging me away from the camp.

"What are you doing?!" I hissed.

"Silence," he glowered.

We walked deeper into the woods until the assassin was satisfied we would not be heard. Before I could speak again, his one hand wrapped around my throat and slammed me against a tree.

"OW! Watch the head-"

His grip tightened, cutting off my voice. "I do not know what possessed you to do that, but remember you are a _prisoner_. Behave like one!"

I extensively flexed my neck muscles so I could barely breathe and speak.

"Oh, I'm s-rry! I did not-_nnh-_know there were- _ggh-_ rules on how to behave as a prisoner-"

Sudden hot pain erupted on my left cheek which had abruptly turned to the right. My eyes widened in shock. My freed neck turned back to the cripple.

"You fucking slapped me!"

"You do not deserve my fist," he patronized.

I scowled at him.

The assassin continued, "Listen well, woman. If you mess with the boy again, I will make your life a living Hell until I have to hand you over to my master."

I could not keep my mouth shut. "Oh, boo-hoo. That kid has to grow up eventually, anyway!"

The atmosphere went cold.

His hand shot out and gripped the hair on top of my head. I cried out from the action then glared with contempt at the assassin, seething and giving a silent promise of delivering him a painful death the first chance I got.

Malik moved in closer, and I could see under his hood along with his dark eyes now.

"This is your last warning."

He kneed me in the stomach.

I failed to arch forward due to the assassin's grip on my head, but saliva still shot from my mouth. I felt my muscles go lax from pain and my head lighten quickly. _Not again-_ My hair was freed, and I fell against the cripple's chest and lost consciousness.

**The Protector**

_Dark. Everything is dark, yet I can see perfectly. _

_I rapidly turned my head, looking around for anything tangible. I know what is happening. I don't want to be here! Not again!_

_Sharp, cold pain erupted from my abdomen, making me gasp. The sounds of fast dripping echoed in the black space. I looked down._

_Blood dripped again from the sword sticking out of my chest._

Wake up.

_Another sword pierced through my back and out the front, out of my stomach._

Wake up!

_More swords along with spewing blood emerged from my abdomen, the pain growing sharper, and I started to feel colder._

SOMEONE WAKE ME UP, DAMN IT!

_A strong hand grasped onto my left shoulder, its nails digging into the scar hard enough to draw blood. I finally broke my lethargic state and screamed with tightly shut eyes._

"_Kifah!" a distant voice called._

_My eyes opened. What?_

_I was stunned by what I was seeing. The... there's light and green alongside the dark space! It looks like it is trying to merge, but they are still separate spaces. What is happening?!_

_A violent shake caused a spike of adrenaline to disperse throughout my entire body-_

My eyes shot open, and I involuntarily sat upright from my nightmare.

The older assassin with both arms brought back his right hand having finally awoken me. Apparently, he was squatting next to me during my nightmare.

Despite my furious heartbeat, I calmed my breathing and took a relaxing breath. My fear is gone, and I will not show weakness in front of my captors if I can help it!

Noticing that my expression quickly became blank, the assassin raised a speculative eyebrow, but instead of questioning me he let the matter go and stood up to leave. Looking around, I saw the rising sun's light shine past the trees. The cripple and the man are already on their horses, and the boy is searching the area for some reason.

I forced myself to stand, ignoring my cramped muscles and very sore lower body. I have to get back on that fucking horse again. Mentally groaning, I reluctantly walked over to the brown mare and looked at the saddle. This is either going to end poorly or very ungracefully.

I lifted my left foot and placed it in the stirrup, and my right foot shifted a little on the ground to maintain balance. The horse made a low noise, and I jumped it. Keeping my weight forward, I leaped up with my right foot swinging over its rump, but I stopped my legs fast descent just before it hit the horse's side. I flinched from landing on the saddle. Looking over the right, I eventually maneuvered my foot into the stirrup.

The boy appeared next to us, rope in hand, and he silently tied my feet back to the stirrups before mounting his horse.

We returned to the trail.

**The Protector**

To say this trip has been unnerving and boring would be an understatement.

For two days I did my best trying to find signs of a village, but all I could see were trees, some grass, wild flowers, and dirt. The rare cry of birds made my entertainment. The boy avoided me as much as possible, and I was not going to risk antagonizing him, thus the cripple, more than I already had. The last time I, along with my pride, got completely beaten by a man who _deserved_ the victory was Shazeb Al-Roze when we first met about four years ago! I would rather not repeat that kind of experience.

My legs had eventually grown use to riding; they are no longer sore. My arms and hands are still hurting though because the bastards still have not untied them! When we ate bread and cheese, the whole man fed me by hand like I was an infant. Malik watched me during those times to make sure I behaved. What did he think I was going to do? Bite Rushdi's fingers?

It was a very tempting thought, though.

At night it was the same. We went off of the trail to sleep. The assassins took turns watching in shifts, and by the third night I figured out some of their sleeping habits. The cripple is a light sleeper, and once he wakes up from slumber, he cannot go back to sleep. That is why he always does first watch. The other man is most likely a heavy sleeper. When he sleeps, he appears _dead_; it is actually kind of creepy… In contrast the boy rolls in his sleep.

As for me, I still remain asleep until I wake up from a dream or some outside intervention. I cannot really move in my sleep anymore since my wrists are still fucking tied together.

Whether it was normal or not, I still found it strange that the assassins rarely conversed with each other despite my presence. When they did talk, it was usually between the two full grown assassins, and they spoke to each other in different languages. Only once did the boy join in their conversation in whatever tongue they used. I suppose they were chancing that since I am uneducated, as I admitted to Tazim, I can only understand Arabic.

Suddenly feeling a drastic challenge in balance, I broke from my thoughts and noticed we are riding up a steep hill. Then I heard an obvious gulp nearby. I did not think much of it until it happened two more times while we are still going up this hill.

I subtly looked at the boy on my right, wondering what in this hot weather could possibly be making him do that. Though the hood concealed the upper half of the side of his lowered face, the clenched jaw and dipping frown gave away his nervous disposition.

My eyes returned forward, seeing that we are about to reach the top. Observing the other two assassins, I noticed a change in them as well, and my stomach twisted in anticipation. They are making me nervous…

Finally, we reached the peak, and I gaped.

One could only know from this height how well fortified this place is! The mountains protecting them had the entire village situated on rising plateaus, encircling the right side, and a steep cliff along the left side, most likely leading to a body of water below. In the back further elevated upon a rising hill is a magnificent fortress, and even at this distance I immediately recognized the huge twin flags on the castle's front bearing the guild's symbol. Going down the hill led to the central village where the normal community resides to my surprise, and there are far more average looking people than there are assassins that I can see. The front of the village looks busier, so I am assuming that is where their market is located. The only visible entrance is a tall opened gate made of wood, the ends enclosed by even taller earth.

My instincts and reasoning clashed, both having different methods in attempting to maintain my survival.

I must run away! To where? I have no map nor a fucking clue where Masyaf is even located! The moment I enter that gate, I will be trapped. Me versus an army-worth of assassins, in their territory no less; I do not stand a chance! I do not stand a chance by myself in the wilderness, either. I killed one of their 'brothers.' They will show no mercy accordingly! Neither will the wild, and I cannot ride a horse. I can walk. I do not know how to survive outside of civilization. It is either having an impossible chance of finding another village out here and not dying of exposure, or having an impossible chance of gaining my freedom back and not dying of torture! I do not have a fucking weapon to defend myself with or hunt in the wild, and I do not even know how to hunt anyway! Must not get trapped- The chance of my immediate death is higher in the wilderness than in this home of assassins, whether I like it or not. Must not betray Shazeb- I will not. I will kill myself before doing that! Must not be tortured-

My face fell.

_Must not end up like Old-Man._

My heartbeat sped up from the stress of the situation and as we rode downhill.

"_What is torture?"_

_He looked up from his book. I had just returned home from studying the thugs practicing with their throwing knives._

_Old-Man hesitantly set his book down on the eating table and beckoned me to sit with him. I walked over and sat in the other chair, eager to learn._

"_You remember those tests I put you through after your birthday?"_

_I nodded. How could I forget?_

"_That was like torture."_

_My eyes widened in disbelief. "You tortured me?"_

_His face contorted in anger. "NO! Don't you dare accuse me of that! I said it was _like_ torture. I tested you, not tortured you!"_

"_Then what is the difference?" I pressed._

_For some reason Old-Man's face fell. "...Motive. _Technique_." He sighed. "Little-Girl, you are not normal, and I have a feeling Allah will never permit you to have a normal life. I..."_

_I became concerned at his sudden pained look, but I waited patiently for him to continue._

_Gathering himself, Old-Man resumed, "You know there are bad people in this world. They will put you in situations that will push your limits as I did, but unlike me, they will hurt you if you cannot overcome your limits. I don't want those people to get you like they did-" He stopped himself._

_My brow clenched in worry. He does not act like this. Why is he acting like this?_

"_Listen," he sobered. "Torture is the affliction of pain, pain so great that it wears down a person until they break. Most often torture is done to gain information, but there are people who do it simply because it gives them _pleasure_." _

_I cringed in unbelieving horror at this reveal. How can someone feel good from causing such unnecessary pain?_

_Old-Man's face grew pale, "But torture is also done to change people. Depending on how... t-they are tortured, they... They all break. They all eventually give up. It just takes time. Or they die from the pain, or soon after giving up. Their wills gone and replaced with the will of their captor! Some people cannot live with that..."_

_My heart beat heavily at his lesson turned into ramblings. I desperately want to ask him questions, but I know better. _

_His arms shot out and desperately gripped my shoulders. I stared into his unstable gaze filling with urgency._

"_Don't you _ever_ allow yourself to be caught. You hear me? Don't allow anyone to hurt you like he did me! Got it?! NEVER GIVE UP! The moment you do, _they_ win. _They _have _broken_ you. IF I EVER CATCH YOU GIVING UP, I WILL KILL YOU MYSELF, LITTLE-GIRL!" he started shaking me._

We reached the bottom of the hill, the entrance only several yards away.

_It is too late._

My heart pounded, its rate increasing as the gates came closer and closer.

_I don't want to die!_

The heads of the villagers within eyesight turned upon spotting the party reach the entrance. The wooden gate moved further into my peripheral vision until it finally disappeared. I am inside. Feeling more and more gazes studying my captive state then my face, my cheeks and neck began to redden, but there is no way for me to hide. I am not use to so many people seeing my face, and now they are all aware that I am a prisoner.

The cripple halted his horse and dismounted, and the two other captors followed as did my horse. Rushdi came and freed my feet, but this time he assisted me in dismounting. I will never admit that I actually needed the help this time.

My feet landed roughly on the ground, and I regained my strength at the last minute, keeping myself standing. The cripple spoke to four nearby men that are dressed like the boy, and they took hold of the horses' reins and guided them away.

The cripple started walking further into the village. The boy followed after him. Rushdi pushed my back, and I obediently started walking with him escorting behind me. Heart pounding in my ears, I looked around to distract myself from what is to come.

Along with the normal looking people, more men dressed like the boy were everywhere, mingling with the villagers, yet the air is not full of tension. The overwhelming number of assassins dressed like the boy confirmed my suspicions that they are "average" while Tazim, Rushdi, and Malik are somehow special because of their different robes. I then noticed a few men that actually resembled scholars walking around. This really is the home of Tazim's guild!

As we went closer and closer to the fortress, more people and assassins stared at us. I could feel their curious gazes and hear their whispers. Suddenly I realized we are walking up another hill curving to the left. The white flags bearing the red symbols insulted my eyes, reminding me that I fucked with the wrong people. More assassins stood around, acting like guards. All I can feel besides my heartbeat are my treading feet.

The fortress looks mightier up close, but I could not stop to admire the structure. I kept moving, entering the walls. I spotted even more assassins and to my surprise, several civilians standing around a ring where two young assassins without their hoods on sword fighting. Another assassin stood outside the ring, but his arms are crossed, obviously observing the practicing duo. Unlike the others I have seen, he is wearing a black cloth covering the lower half of his face, similar to the scouting fake-scholars. He blinked, and he turned his head looking straight at me with abruptly burning eyes. I shivered.

My rear escort pushed against my back again, startling me and causing me to break from the assassin's gaze. Brushing aside the strange occurrence, I hurried my walk up the hill to the right, leading to an inner entrance to the castle. Before passing under the archway, the cripple pulled back his hood, revealing unexpectedly thick black hair with several grey strands, reaching the middle of his neck. The other escorts pulled back their hoods as well, and we entered the large castle.

The first thing I noticed was a wide stairway leading to an area before a huge window. The second thing I noticed was more assassin guards standing next to support pillars. Then I noticed the vast amount of shelves to the left and right filled with books.

I followed my escorts up the stairs, and I saw him.

At first glance, one would not think anything special about him other than the fact he is wearing those unique robes that Tazim once proudly did. A muscular, fit assassin with a uniform that is supposed to signify his advanced status is sitting at a desk and doing paper work!

Rushdi grabbed my shoulders, making me stop and stand over the Order's symbol engraved into the floor. The boy stood near us with a nervous expression. What in the Hell is _he_ nervous for?!

The cripple approached the busy man, standing in front of wide desk. The hooded assassin lifted his head, clearly revealing his face despite the sunlight facing his back.

A light, black beard covered his jaw and chin, connecting to a small yet thicker portion of facial hair on the area between his lower lip and chin. He also has a light, black mustache and a vertical scar across the right side of his lips. Despite the hood, I could tell that his jaw structure is narrow, common. However, even with the facial hair, his chin is more round and high set. Oddly, his nose looks familiar to me… as do his black, thin eyebrows. Then I noticed his eyes, slightly slanted and a very light brown, like amber. They bear the look of a battle worn yet proud resilient leader; they hold authority.

Looking back over his light tan complexion, I wondered why he looks so familiar…

The boy's stand shifted, causing my high strung gaze to look at him.

My eyes widened as my mind made the connection, and I looked back at the leader of this guild of assassins. He is also a mix!

His gaze quickly passed over us before connecting with the cripple.

Standing up from the desk, he greeted warmly, "Malik."

The cripple nodded in response. "Mentor. As you can see, I brought back Darim, but we just happened to help Rushdi capture Tazim's murderer."

The "Mentor" glanced at me before looking at Malik again and laying a hand on his left shoulder. "Thank you, my friend. Maria and I are in your debt, but you still have business to attend here before returning to Jerusalem."

"I understand."

The still hooded leader retracted his hand. "Good. You and Rushdi take her to the prison then wait for me here. Maria and I need to speak with our son before we gather the evidence." He turned and looked at the boy, who immediately stiffened.

It finally clicked in my mind, and my mouth opened in realization. The fucking novice is the leader's son?! But that means- Oh, _shit_.

The Mentor beckoned at Darim, who followed his father away from the study and through a door.

My heart skipped a beat. I had nearly murdered the son of the leader of an army of assassins.

The cripple walked past me, leading the way again. I followed with Rushdi behind me, and we traveled down the stairs and back outside. Traveling down hill to the left, I saw another path diverging uphill to the left, and we took it. It led to more of the castle's walls and a tower. The cripple opened the tower's door, and we entered the, surprisingly, low ceiling room. It was empty except for a stairway leading underground, and I hesitantly entered with the assassins.

Quickly it became low lit, the only light provided by candles along the walls. Soon we reached the bottom room, and the cripple opened its door to reveal an underground prison. The escorts suddenly grabbed my arms, pulling me in and pushing me into one of the empty cells. I stumbled inside and heard the door slam and lock behind me.

Quickly recovering, I turned around running at the door, kicking it once from fury, but it merely rattled. After giving their final glares through the bars, the two assassins left, closing the main door behind them.

A new assassin came into view before my cell, holding a chain of keys. Where the fuck did he come from?!

Like almost all of the assassins, he wore average robes, but a white cloth covered the lower half of his face. That combined with the low lighting of the prison made it impossible for me to study his features, and as soon as he appeared, he left.

Brows furrowing, I stepped away from the bar door and looked around my little prison. This cell is obviously designed to hold one person, as there is only one bed (or a pile of straw covered with cheap blankets) and one bucket. The remaining three sides are brick walls, so I cannot see into the other cells, making it difficult to see the rest of the prison. Fortunately, the back wall has three small windows up high to let in light.

Sighing, I walked over to the bed and sat down. A wave of exhaustion came over me, making me realize how tired and stressed I am.

Not really having any options, I laid down and uncomfortably rested my eyes.

* * *

**Please note during the flashbacks that since Kifah and her childhood friends were young children, some of what they think/say/do is grammatically (and factually) wrong because they didn't know any better at the time.**

**According to the Assassin's Creed wikia, Altair is the son of a Muslim father (Umar) and a Christian mother (of course, unnamed). Despite Altair's appearance changing in Revelations, he still looks similar to Desmond, so that led me to believe that Altair is indeed half Arab and half... whichever ethnicities were Christian at the time. That is why I'm making him a mix in this story.**

* * *

**The Fox Familiar:** _Thank you! Yay; another history lesson! No, I've never watched Kingdom of Heaven. I've heard it's good though. I'll save it for when I'm having serious writer's block!_

**sesshomaruisfluffypuppy: **_Your welcome? lol So, this is one of the few that isn't garbage. I'm still in college though and looking for a second job, so I write when I can and when I have the muse at the same time. Which isn't quite as often since finals are coming around the corner! Anyway, considering that Darim appears very briefly as an adult in Revelations, I had to figure out (coughguess) what his personality/behavior would be as a hormonal teenager._


	11. Trial

_Everything looks blurry._

_I rubbed my sleepy eyes. I had gone to sleep in the living room again._

_The knocking that woke me up happened again._

_Yawning, I walked to the front door and opened it. There is a bunch of guards standing, and the man in front wearing a shiny mask finally stopped knocking and lowered his hand._

"_Good evening. Is your father here, little girl?" he asked, though it was difficult to understand his muffled and strange way of talking at first, so he repeated the question after noticing my blank stare._

_I was confused by his speech, and when I am confused, it is hard to speak._

_He eventually moved on to another question. "...May we come in?"_

_I noticed the other guards smile and snicker, though I did not understand why._

_Looking back up at the masked guard, I asked, "Why?"_

"_Cause he said so, you little brat!" one of the men yelled at me._

_He scared me, so I backed away!_

_The man- I guess their leader- turned and yelled at the scary guard in a different language. When he finished, he turned back to me and knelt down on one knee._

"_I apologize for him. Please, little one, we need to speak with your father. It is just business."_

_I thought about it. I have never really liked the guards, but Mommy and Daddy said that because we live here, we need to respect them and do what they say because it is the right thing to do..._

"_Daddy's with Mommy. I'll go get him," I made my decision, quickly turning around and running to my parents' bedroom._

_Upon approaching the door, I knocked on it. I could hear my parents moving out of their bed and one of them walking to answer._

_Mommy opened the door and smiled at me._

"_Hey, my sweet baby! Did you have a nightmare?"_

_I shook my head._

_She tilted her head. "Then what is it you need?"_

"_There are a bunch of guards outside wanting to talk to Daddy about business."_

"_What?!" Daddy exclaimed from inside the bedroom, and he immediately got off of the bed to get dressed._

_Mommy looked at him, then at me, then back to him again. I widened my eyes at seeing Daddy's panicked behavior. What happened? Did I say something wrong? Mommy walked over to Daddy, asking what is going on._

"_Kifah, take her and stay in here; hide! Understand?!" He put his robe on, pulling it down until it straightened._

_I looked back at Mommy, who pressed her lips. I know she wants to know what is going on. I do too. Finally she obeyed, approaching me, taking my hand, and leading me inside the bedroom. Daddy is walking back and forth now, looking stressed and trying to think. Once I stood next to Mommy, he stopped and looked at us._

_Suddenly he hugged Mommy tightly, whispering that he loves her over and over again into her hair. She hugged him back even tighter, returning his love. Too soon he had to pull back._

_He instructed, "Kifah, no matter what happens, no matter what you hear, _stay hidden_. You two must remain safe until the guards leave. I will take care of everything. M-my wife-"_

_Mommy kissed him, hugging him tightly again, and he held her shoulders and kissed her back deeply, desperately._

_I was too scared to comment on their kissing in front of me._

_Daddy separated from Mommy, who started to shake but held back her tears. Then he looked at me and knelt down, hugging me tightly before looking into my eyes for what would be his final conversation with me._

"_...take care of your mother and be a good girl. Remember that I love you and your mother very much," he finished with a kiss to my forehead._

_I flinched, started to feel bad as a new feeling crept into the back of my mind._

"_I love you too, Daddy," I whispered and kissed his cheek._

_Breathing in, he stood up and turned away from us. Daddy left the room, closing the door behind him._

_Mommy released a whimper and collapsed on her knees, hands, and face, reciting prayers to Allah._

_That new feeling got bigger and bigger, as did my curiously, and I slowly moved closer to the door._

_I heard the many guards enter the living room, and Daddy started talking to them. Unfortunately, I can't clearly hear what is being said._

_Suddenly, the guards started yelling at him, and he yelled back. Their arguments got loud enough to distract Mommy from her praying, and she lifted her head._

"_Get away from the door!" she commanded._

_A cry from Daddy reached my ears. Alarmed, I grabbed the door and opened it enough to look through. I gasped._

_Daddy is on in knees, clutching his stomach, and his face is bruised and bleeding. The masked guard is standing behind him, and he draws his sword. My eyes widened._

No…

_Mommy got up and walked behind me, about to shut the door but froze upon seeing what I'm seeing._

_The guard gripped the sword's handle with both hands so the blade is down, and he lifted the sword above Daddy's back._

Please, no!

_He thrust it downward, causing the sword to pierce through the top of Daddy's back and exit out of his chest, covered in bright red. Daddy's eyes widened as his mouth opened, but no sound came out. As quickly as the guard pushed the sword in, he pulled it out, and Daddy fell onto the floor._

"_Daddy!" my voice shrilled at what I had witnessed through the crack of the door._

"_Be quiet!" _

_"__But he-"_

_My mouth was covered by Mommy's hand in an attempt to silence me. She quickly shut the door and grabbed me, bringing me closer to her so she could hold me while backing away._

_After moving us to a corner, Mommy kissed the top of my head, and I felt something wet hit it._

_I kept staring forward, seeing what happened to Daddy again and again in my mind._

_The door was pushed open._

_The new feeling completely filled my head and chest, and I realized why._

It's my fault.

BANG!

My eyes shot open, startled awake from the loud noise. It happened again, and I looked over to my prison's door. The assassin with the white cloth concealing his face lowered his fist and grabbed his keys. He unlocked the door, and four of those assassin guards entered my prison cell.

"Get up," one of them commanded.

Groaning, I sat up and stood from the bed of hay. Two men grabbed me by each arm even though my hands are still tied, not giving me a chance to stretch my limbs. They quickly led me out, with one guard leading in front and the last guard following in the back.

We walked up the stairs, out of the tower's low room, and into the courtyard of the fortress. The bright sun blinded me for several seconds, but my eyes adjusted. I must have been asleep for a day! Then I noticed that unlike before, there is no one in the courtyard. Where did everyone go?

Two yanks to my arms brought my attention back to walking towards the entrance of the Mentor's library and office. Fear seized my chest, making it heavy and hard to breathe. He told that cripple that they were going to gather evidence. Why? The fact I left Tazim's body on the roof of my house is admittance enough that I killed him. What more proof do they need?

We entered through the tall archway. Several more assassins are standing guard than before, and I could feel their glowers as I walked past them. My increasing heartbeat echoed in my ears as I went up the stairs to the Mentor's desk. Once we reached the top, the leading guard moved behind me, revealing an infidel woman speaking with the assassin leader. Upon noticing us, she stopped talking and looked at me.

Her hair is dark silver and as short as mine. Her darker eyebrows are short and thin, and her round eyes are a familiar light grey color. These features really stick out against her pale complexion. Her long yet slender nose leads to long yet thinning lips, signifying her age. Yet her cheeks are thick, revealing her health. Her pointed chin is small, and the jaw structure is narrow, giving her a heart-shaped face that is held up by a slender neck.

She must be Darim's mother.

The woman studied me, quickly looking me over before lifting her dark green hood over her head. She turned back to the Mentor, her… husband.

"Altair, I must go."

The standing leader nodded his head, "Go, Maria."

She strolled in her long, dark grey robe with the signature red sash wrapped around her waist, reaching a door on the far side of the room and exiting. I could not help but wonder how an infidel woman managed to be welcomed into an Arabic village, especially one as remote as this. I suppose being married to their leader helped … Why is her dress similar to the assassins? She actually looks like a cross between an assassin and a civilian… _No_… Is she _retired_?

Malik and Rushdi loudly pushed the same door open, carrying scrolls under their arms. They quickly reached the Mentor's desk, placing them there. The two guards suddenly pulled me forward, making me stand on top of their guild's symbol. What the fuck is happening now?

The Mentor spread the scrolls out across his desk, scanning each of them. Still leaning over his desk, he lifted his head, staring hard at me. His amber eyes flashed, and he suddenly swept his right arm over the desk, picking up a scroll while straitening his stance.

"Malik, are the lower ranked assassins and the novices in their rooms?"

The cripple answered, "Yes. Maria, Hilmi, Hisham, and Basil are patrolling to make sure they don't leave."

I looked at the Mentor in disbelief. "You have your own assassins under house arrest?"

One of the escort guards behind me slapped the back of my head, causing me to wince. "It is for your own protection, so be quiet!"

My eyes widened. What?!

The Mentor walked around his desk, so he is standing in front of it while Malik is standing to his right and Rushdi is standing to his left.

"What he says is true," their master confirmed. "There are many who wish you dead for murdering their brother, but I cannot risk your death until the truth has been revealed."

I opened my mouth to speak, but he promptly ordered, "The trial shall begin!"

With his expression hardening, the Mentor stepped forward, pacing back and forth in the open space. Fear squeezed tighter around me. This man has the behavior of a predator, and I cannot escape.

"So, you are Kifah. Do you know who I am?"

I humored him, "You are the leader of an Order of assassins that fights for some kind of special cause?"

"Yes, and you do know my name?"

"That… woman called you Altair." I had to resist the urge to describe her as an infidel.

"I am Altair Ibn-La'Ahad, the Mentor."

I raised an eyebrow at the meaning behind his full name. _The Bird, Son of No One... Sounds lonely._

"You tried to kill my son and my men," he finally started.

I nodded my head since there is no point in denying it. "I did not want to come here. What did you expect?"

"That is exactly what I expected you to do."

I blinked, not sure how to respond to that.

The Mentor eventually continued onto what this trial is really about, "You murdered Tazim."

"Y-_No_," I corrected myself.

He halted. "You are lying."

"I am not."

He moved so quick, I merely blinked and he stood right in front of me. "We have an eye witness report of you killing Tazim and questioning him before he died, and you left his body on top of your house! Do you take me for a fool?!"

I scowled, "Why should I?! I don't even know you!"

He scowled back, "Then why do you lie?"

Releasing a frustrated breath, I explained, "You are right when you said that I killed Tazim, but I did not murder him! Not when I actually committed the action. _He_ attacked _me_. What was I supposed to do?! Let him kill me?!"

"Tazim was one of my best investigators. He would not attack someone unless they deserved it, and when my people investigated your home in Jerusalem, we saw your books painted with the Templar cross!"

"For the love of- I tried to explain that to Tazim before he attacked me, but he never gave me the chance! The books painted red belonged to my late guardian; I inherited them when he died. I had no idea their markings made that symbol until Tazim noticed it and rearranged the books!"

Rushdi interjected darkly, "And then you had to silence him."

My head turned to him. "No!" I reaffirmed.

The one-armed man glared at the other specially ranked assassin. "Do not speak unless you are needed."

The Mentor never broke eye contact while lifting his right hand, silencing them both and bringing them back to attention. After lowering his hand, he resumed, "What you say could be true, but that does not prove that you are not affiliated with the Templars-"

I finally snapped stepping forward though the guards kept me from getting far.

"I AM NOT A FUCKING TEMPLAR!"

The present assassins' eyes widened at my outburst, and my escort guards pulled me back. The two behind me kicked the back of my knees, causing me to fall on them and kneel.

Their master leaned down, grabbing me by the front of my shirt and lifting me up. Once I stood properly, he slapped me. My head turned sharply, but I did not let a sound escape me. I turned my head forward. I will not cry out for this imbecile! The Mentor continued glowering, studying my eyes glaring just as ferociously back at him. Suddenly I heard the familiar chime of sliding of metal, and I looked down to see his hidden blade's tip too close to my neck. My eyes widened as they softened in fear.

"You have no chance of killing me, _child_, so stop looking at me like you do or I will kill you," he threatened with a low and clear voice.

I could not resist my throat gulping, but I eventually gave in and nodded my head in surrender. He leaned back, retracting the hidden blade into its vambrace before resuming pacing back and forth. For the sake of my life, I kept my eyes humble in fear and apprehension. This is not a situation where my anger taking over can save me.

A few minutes passed before the Mentor stopped his pondering and went to his desk. He searched through the scrolls again, picking up the one he wanted and handing it to Malik. The one-armed cripple grabbed it and flicked it so it would open wider.

Holding it before him, the cripple spoke, "So, you do not deny killing Tazim, yet you claim you did it because he attacked you first?"

"He did," I reassured.

"So you killed him in self-defense?"

"In the moment, yes."

Everyone paused. Malik broke the silence, "'In the moment?'"

I lowered my head slightly, "Yes. Murder was not on my mind when I killed him. I… panicked right before he was about to kill me, and the next thing I knew, I had stabbed him with my broken sword."

"And then you interrogated him."

My eyebrows furrowed in disfavor. "No! Not even during my career as a freelancer did I interrogate the dying."

He immediately attacked, "Then why were you speaking to him until he finally succumbed?"

Remembering what had happened, I blushed and looked down.

"Answer the question, Kifah!" the leader ordered, suddenly slamming his fist on the desk. I hesitantly looked back up.

"...We just talked for the last time as f…f-f-_friends_," I finally admitted.

Rushdi's face contorted with rage along with his tightening fists. "Don't you _dare_ say that you were friends!"

The Mentor strictly told Rushdi to be quiet. Though angry, he was humbled and looked down. For some reason, it made me flinch.

The Mentor told the cripple to continue.

He paused briefly before asking, "What did you and Tazim talk about?"

"He… he told me he forgave me for killing him-" I stopped from seeing the assassin's cruel look of disbelief. "I'm telling the truth! He forgave me after kissing me-" I froze, my blush returning even more powerful.

"What?!" the escort guards exclaimed, getting furious.

"How _dare _you, you Templar WHORE!" Rushdi yelled.

"BE QUIET!" the Mentor commanded. His assassins immediately held their tongues from further slander.

He turned sharply to the similarly garbed man. "You're dismissed. Go to your quarters!"

Rushdi recoiled, shocked at first then furiously looking away, but he obeyed his master. He hastily strolled to the door on the right far side of the office, opening it and slamming it shut behind him.

Altair and Malik shook their heads. Then the Mentor walked up to me again.

"Either you charmed Tazim or you are a master of deception… What else did he tell you?"

I considered revealing that Tazim showed me how their hidden blades work and told me how to disable them, but I decided against it. I killed Tazim; I should not taint his reputation more than I already have.

"H-he tried to tell me what he wanted you- er, his brethren to do for him," my heart became even heavier as I mentioned this. "…He died before he could finish telling me."

The mix just stared at my face, studying me with that fucking cold, blank face. Finally, he moved away, going to the desk to grab another scroll. While he was near the cripple, he whispered something to him. Malik looked at him skeptically, but did not object to whatever he heard.

The cripple stepped forward, looking at his scroll again. "So, you said that those books painted with the Templar symbol belonged to a late guardian of yours, correct?"

I blinked at him. "Yes."

"And how long have you seen those books?"

I took a moment to remember. "Eight years. Why?"

He narrowed his eyes. "How come Tazim was able to recognize what symbol they make after only seeing them for a few months while you did not recognize it for eight years?"

Getting worried at the implication, I honestly answered, "I really never noticed it before-"

"YOU DEMON!"

The assassins and I turned towards the source of the cry behind us. At the archway stood a seething, middle aged woman, face and neck red with rage. Ignoring the protesting guards of the first floor, she pushed past them, going to the stairs. Suddenly an assassin wearing a black cloth to conceal his lower face reached the entrance, running inside and grabbing her.

"Husna! You're not allowed to be here!" he gently scorned the now struggling woman.

"Rauf, why has your wife left the village and reached here?!" The Mentor demanded, walking past me and my escorts to see them better.

The masked assassin looked up. "I'm sorry, Mentor. She snuck through-"

His master interrupted, "_This_ is why I had the people and undisciplined assassins under house arrest! I will not risk a mob until I determine whether Kifah needs to live or not. Don't let this happen again!" He began to turn away when the emotional woman opened her mouth.

"'_Needs to live_?!' That vile sorceress deserves _death_! How could you, Mentor?! YOU WOULD BE PUBLICLY EXECUTING HER YOURSELF IF SHE HAD KILLED _YOUR _SON!" she screeched and finally stopped moving, nearly collapsing in her husband's arms. The sounds of hiccupping and whimpering began to escape from her. Rauf kept her lifted and turned her around. Husna immediately pressed herself against her husband, burying her head to his chest to cry.

After wrapped his arms around her, caringly rubbing her back, Rauf looked up and accidentally met my eyes.

I gaped, remembering that look. He is that same assassin at the training ring!

_And I killed his son…_

The flash of pure rage and hurt passed his eyes before he broke eye contact to look at his master.

"I apologize for my wife's disturbance, Mentor."

"You and your wife are pardoned." Then he narrowed his eyes. "But once this trial is settled, we will talk. Take Asad, Dirar, Ghalib, and Hamas with you to help secure the villagers. Now!"

As Rauf and his mourning wife walked out of the building, the named guards followed after them. It was not until a few moments after they left that Altair briskly walked back to his desk, laying his hand on one of the spread scrolls. He remained silent, seemingly in deep thought. Finally, he grabbed the scroll and scanned it. Narrowing his eyes, he held it in front of him while slowly walking around, and he began reading it aloud.

"1210, the Second Month… My suspicions are looking more plausible by the day. I have managed to find another encrypted message from my target's home. Usually what I find are in Templar code, but this one uses OUR code. To think… a traitor living amongst us at home! It makes my blood boil. But I need more evidence. Nevertheless, this message's existence disturbs me and Master Malik. He will send the messages back to Masyaf through carrier pigeon so Maria and her people can begin decoding them.

Over half of these messages I have found were in Jerusalem, yet there are no Templars here. Perhaps the Mentor should consider the possibility that they are recruiting Muslims to act as their spies once again…"

He set it down and grabbed another one. "1210, the Fifth Month… The target confessed to being converted and recruited by the Templars during the Crusades as a young man. He was never a true Muslim. Nevertheless, this confirms my suspicions even more. The taunting message makes more sense now… I finally gave my concerns of a traitor in our midst to Master Malik. He says to have more trust in our master handling my concerns. They are MY concerns, though. I must protect my brothers and sisters. I must protect the Order!"

He turned the scroll around before resuming, "1210, the Sixth Month. I am convinced now more than ever that one of our brothers is a Templar spy. But he cannot possibly travel to their country, and pigeons can only fly so far. He must be using contacts in Jerusalem as the main trafficking location for his encoded messages!

I will convince the Mentor to keep sending me to do missions in Jerusalem. If I cannot find the traitor at home, maybe I can find one of his contacts there.

Nothing is true. Everything is permitted.

Master Assassin Recruit, Tazim Hakaik," he finished and looked at me to gauge my reaction along with the other assassins.

Wait… I'm confused. He obviously read that to me for a reason, but… Wait- The Sixth Month of last year? That is the month I first met Tazim! What a coincide-

I could not stop my gasp and widening eyes in disbelief.

The Mentor's eyes narrowed, contempt filling his eyes. He coldly set the scrolls back onto his desk.

_Oh, this is HORSESHIT!_

"What exactly are you getting at?" I asked, still uncertain and cautious.

Malik explained, "Tazim was investigating Jerusalem for the last three seasons looking for Templar contacts, supposedly for a traitor. Despite his obsession with that, he was one of my most promising students; diligent, hardworking, and sharp. For the last three seasons, he had written many reports and journals on his investigations, including you. Based on the attitude in his recent writings, we believe he was very close to discovering the evidence that would prove all of his suspicions. Then unexpectedly, he dies… He is killed by the same woman he was investigating and spending a lot of time with, whose combat abilities are lower than his and has the Templar emblem in her house!"

I flinched. Well, now I know what Tazim meant to the cripple…

He took a quick breath, calming down. "It would seem that you are the Templar contact Tazim was searching for," Malik finally accused.

"That is just a coincidence of timing!"

The Mentor interjected, "Enough with your lies! We have more evidence that points to you being affiliated with the Templars, anyhow."

My head whipped to him. What did he just say?!

"There is absolutely no evidence that exists that proves I am affiliated with those infidels!" I yelled in aggravation.

He paused at my exclamation, and then I saw the faintest smirk form on his scarred mouth.

My blood turned cold.

Without saying a word, he returned to his desk, picking up more papers and holding them in a stack with his right hand.

"In case you ever wondered, we did raid your house to look for evidence of your background. We found many educational and philosophical books, surprisingly. But the most mysterious book was a thick, completely filled journal belonging to a man who called himself 'Old-Man.'"

I stared at the assassin, waiting for him to bring forth the supposed evidence.

The Mentor continued, "I imagine he was your guardian, and 'Old-Man' is how you addressed him. Am I correct so far?"

I slowly nodded my head.

"Excellent. As you have probably figured out, I read this, as well as my decoders and scholars. Within 'Old-Man's' crude, abstract writing, we actually discovered several interesting facts about his past…"

He paused momentarily, looking at the scrolls again. "We have a high probability that his real name was Fida Zaman, he had a beloved female relative named Johara, he was very skilled at thievery and archery, and…" Altair lifted his head to meet my gaze.

"…he was a follower and personal bodyguard of the Templar Talal, a slave trader I assassinated during the Third Crusade."

_"'who judged the actions of man but allah? / man judges man just as allah judged / whether the right was theirs or not. / if a murderer kills a slaver / who is in the wrong? / he took the condemned to be turned into slaves. / he murdered the slaver for taking the condemned. / who is _Talal_?'…"_

That name-

"_Your name is special, but it is also dangerous. Letting anyone know your name can get you killed, Little-Girl! That's how my master died! You want to die too, stupid?!"_

The muscles in my neck clenched.

_"No one, not even us, will know our names. Then no assassin can track us down and kill us."_

My mouth barely opened, and I took in a shaky breath.

"_To be_ defiled_ by them is worse than being murdered by an assassin, SO STAY AWAY FROM THEM, LITTLE-GIRL!"_

"This must be a coincidence," I denied.

The cripple debunked, "Our brightest decoders and scholars studied his journal, thinking of any possibilities his clues could be connected to our history within the last fifty years."

"NO! There's got to be a mistake!" I finally blurted out, completely stupefied.

The Mentor stepped forward. "There is no mistake. Your guardian worked for the Templars, or at least Talal, willingly and loyally until his death. It is very likely that he still held some loyalty to the Templars, kept ties, and recruited you into their Order."

I struggled against the guards' holds on my arms, wanting to punch that half-breed in the face!

Instead, and later to my confusion and shame, I choose to use a method of cowardice…

"I am telling the truth! I am not a Templar, and I am in no way affiliated with them! This is all just a big coincidence! _Please_!" I begged.

_I am guilty of doing many horrible sins in my life, but I am not guilty of this!_

Altair paused for a moment; his eyes losing their cold look, but still hard. He set the papers in his hand back onto his desk. Without saying a word, he gracefully strolled to the left side of his office then walked down the library pathway. On the other side of the second story room, he reached an archway leading outside, I think to a garden. He exited, soon walking out of sight outside.

My chest and stomach ached.

Suddenly the cripple coughed, earning everyone's attention while he dropped his papers onto the leader's desk.

"All of the evidence has been presented; the defendant has been questioned; and she has defended herself. The Mentor will now meditate on his judgment. Lock her back in the prison _before_ you notify our brethren that house arrest is over," he dismissed the guards. He then began gathering the scrolls scattered across the desk.

I was still so shocked at discovering Old-Man's past with the Templars that I did not resist the assassins roughly dragging me back to my cell to await judgment from the mouth of Tazim's master.

_Old-Man..._

The cell door was locked by the key bearer.

_Why didn't you tell me?_

* * *

**Many thanks to The Fox Familiar for advising me to add/remove/change minor details in the story, making it more realistic!**

* * *

**The Fox Familiar:** _Two of the Pieces of Eden Kifah encounters have been planned for sure._

**Techne: **_Thank you very much! The situation of the rich man is actually an important point. That should be fixed, along with the other concerns we've discussed._


	12. And Error

The assassins walked away and out of the prison, their footsteps fading away, but I didn't care. I continued staring vacantly.

Suddenly my legs gave out, and I caught myself after landing on my right knee. I ungracefully sat on the floor of the cell.

I do not believe it.

Old-Man would never willingly serve the Templars! He _despised_ them! He damned their souls to eternal suffering every time they were brought up in conversation! Maybe- maybe he did not know his master served the Crusaders at the time, or ever…

My right hand covered my aching chest, the fingertips pressing in as if to push the pain away.

But what if he did? What if Old-Man knew his master was secretly a Knight all along? What if he at some point actually served them and their cause whole heartedly-

My left hand shot over my mouth and nose while my neck muscles clenched, trying to suppress the urge to vomit. For many seconds I kept this up, and my body began to shake with the need to breathe. Finally, I did not feel like throwing up anymore, though the pain and salty taste in my mouth lingered. I released a shaky breath while freeing my face of my hand.

Unevenly inhaling air, my mind tried to make sense of this.

_It… I really can't make that judgment. I don't have enough information to. After all, Old-Man left what he wrote in his journal and took everything else to the grave._

The look in the Mentor's eyes flashed in my memory.

The strained and rushed exhale sounded more like an animal's snarl than a woman's huff.

That fucking half-breed does not care. None of them care about the fact that I am not, and never will be, on the side of the infidels. Fuck- I am on _my_ side, no one else's.

Still, to them it does not overlook the fact that I killed one of their own. And that conniving son of a bitch really thought I was a Templar contact the entire time- and tried to find evidence to prove it. Allah, his strange behavior makes more sense now!

Not that it matters right now. I sighed heavily, feeling a headache coming. All of the circumstances have worked against me. There really was nothing more I could do than plead the truth to the judge, but I still should have known better. Recalling, humiliating myself like that was not worth it, and I doubt it will ever be.

A cynical smile unconsciously formed while I crawled over to the makeshift bed of hay.

Humph. Apparently, _this_ is what I get for knowing Old-Man and Tazim… Apparently, _this_ is a result of a long chain of events leading up to Tazim's fucking paranoia clashing with my sketchy background and will to live. Apparently, _this _is how my years of sinning finally catch up to me, and out of all the atrocities I have committed, it is a charge I- for once- am not guilty of that has me imprisoned now…

I laid down on the cloth barely keeping the ends of the hay from painfully poking me. The lingering nausea is not helping either, but I know I am mentally tired enough to fall asleep.

If those self-righteous assassins knew all I have ever done, they would have executed me on the spot, regardless of the circumstances. Tazim did- er, tried to, and I had only given general details- _STOP IT!_

I breathed again. Rationalizing the situation is not going to do any good now. My thoughts are definitely not going to do any good now. Despite every part of my being hoping for the contrary, I know what _he_ is going to say… His eyes spoke enough.

Closing my eyes, my body shifted into the most comfortable position manageable. At this point, it will not be surprising if those ropes leave scars on my wrists; they have been tightly bound for at least four fucking days.

I gulped, trying too many things at once in attempt to sleep: ignoring my headache, ignoring my hurting chest, ignoring my sick stomach, ignoring the uncomfortable pressure and pain on my right arm and wrists, ignoring the foolishly hopeful thoughts, ignoring the urge to panic, and ignoring the lingering feeling that I had been stabbed in the back then slapped in the face within the span of minutes.

**The Protector**

_I jumped back, dodging the tip of my opponent's short blade. I returned and thrust my dagger forward. He immediately leaned back, dodging it. With superior reflexes he grabbed my wrist before I could pull back._

_Eyes widening, I screeched as he moved behind me, twisting my left arm and holding it backwards and up against my back. I writhed, desperate to succeed._

_His heaving voice insulted my hearing, making me want to rip my ears off after I skin his face._

"_I can't deny that you have the gift, but I can't pardon the fact that you, my child, are _sick_ in the head!"_

_With my free hand, I placed my thumb between my middle and index fingers, making my fist resemble a fig. I reached up behind me, shoving the gesture into the old fuck's face._

"_GO FUCK YOURSELF ON A GUARD'S CO-OW!" I immediately brought back my right hand. I stared shocked at the blood emerging around my knuckles. "You fucking bit me-"_

_The bastard pulled my arm higher, causing immense strain on my shoulder. Finally I could not hold onto my weapon anymore. Its echoed landing made it sound like I failed...NO! I NEVER FAIL! NOBODY MAKES ME FAIL! _

_I didn't realize it at the time, but at that point I was yelling nonsense out of desperation and fear. Suddenly he hit the back of my head. Yelping, I lost all feeling for a moment. He took this opportunity to turn me around and slam me against the wall, pinning me by my forearms._

_Reflexively I cursed, and saliva starting to trail from my foaming mouth. Looking up, I snarled at my so called teacher, and he glowered, eyes not only reflecting my feral appearance but his rising disappointment._

"_A weapon that cannot be mastered is better off scrapped."_

_I hissed and resumed thrashing. "I'M GOING TO CUTT OFF YOUR BALLS AND SEW THEM INTO YOUR MOUTH!"_

_I felt something pop._

_His face twisted in alarm and concern, but I did not notice. "Kifah, you have to calm down!"_

_I shrieked and shook my head, not wanting to listen anymore. Like the many times before, he spun me around and wrapped his powerful arms around me, immobilizing me as I resisted like a mad woman, but he never let up, not even when I had exhausted all of my strength, slack and panting like a pitiful broken animal._

_We still stood there, me in his arms. By now I would be completely far-gone in the recesses of my safe mind, but this time I heard what he whispered on the top of my head._

"_My father might have considered me a fool for this, but you have far too much potential for a young woman. It would be such a waste…_

"_I will not give up on you either, Kifah," he promised._

What? _My emotions paused while my reason considered his words. _He cannot be serious. _I protested_. What if he is?

_Slowly my mouth closed. The saliva on my chin and neck feels gross now. _Better not make hasty choices. Better make sure he is honorable first. Better start thinking properly to be able to tell in the first place…

_I yawned, burned out physically and mentally._

_Mr. Al-Roze sputtered in surprise, and I slouched against him, falling asleep._

My eyes opened. I blinked once, twice, memories flooding back within a second.

Oh. That's why I woke up in a dark, cold, and damp prison cell.

Shifting to sit up, I stretched what muscles I could, causing many audible cracks that seemed loud as thunder in the quiet prison. The village and its inhabitants are most likely asleep, but I doubt all the assassins have joined them, especially the ones who act as guards.

Whatever I was dreaming, I completely forgot it the moment I woke up. No wonder I feel undisturbed!

The feeling was immediately destroyed by the recent information I learned about Old-Man's past. My eyebrows knit together while the corners of my mouth tipped down slightly. _Why_ am I so bothered by this? He is dead. His past should- does not matter.

But it's bothering me. Why is it bothering me? How can the possibility that he willingly served the people who murdered my father, raped my mother, and effectively destroyed my family and childhood, possibly bother me? It's not his fault. He wasn't there, and I never told him about it. And not even those nosy assassins know with certainty if he willingly served _real_ infidels, much less their cause. But what if he did-

I angrily bit my lower lip, causing it to bleed. _Enough!_

Old-Man was a complete stranger when we met, and I was begging him for money. He did not have to take me in instead of giving me coins or even nothing. He did not have to treat me like his own. He did not have to teach me how to pickpocket. He did not have to teach me how to free-run. He did not have to teach me how to condition myself. And he certainly did not have to love me!

I blinked hard at the thought, and something wet hit beneath my eyes and rolled down. My eyes shifted as multiple memories were recalled at once, paralleling each other.

Old-Man really loved me. His actions alone spoke enough.

I smiled sadly. All these years later, and I still regret not telling him once that I…

Bringing up my knees, I rubbed my drying tears and blood on the cloth. I still have a lingering feeling of betrayal, but no matter what, I refuse to sully what he did for me. For I can say with certainty that for the last two years of his life, he did everything he could to raise a little stranger.

Taking in a deep breath, I initiated my mental discipline.

Now, time to think of an escape plan… Why are my hopes still trying to fool me? Unless I get help from the inside, there is no way of walking out of here.

So this is the real question I must consider: do I want to abide and endure until an opportunity comes, or do I want to confront the assassins and die?

**The Protector**

If I had not been meditating on my fate, I would have fully acknowledged the birds singing, the sun rising, and the assassins whose faces are concealed with white cloths occasionally walking in and out of the prison. It took the bellowing click of a turned key to snap me out of my thoughts.

I immediately lift my head, seeing the door a little over a yard in front of me. Along with the facially hidden guard unlocking the door is the Mentor and another prison guard, carrying a folded piece of white cloth. Shit, there are too many of them.

I studied the men while the door was opened, and the half-breed and the smaller guard entered my cell. The key bearer remained at the door.

"Get up," their master ordered. I reluctantly obeyed and forced myself to not retaliate when he gripped my shoulder and made me turn around. With my back facing him, I could not help but start sweating.

The announcing chime of the hidden blade alarmed me, but I soon felt something hard slide between my wrists, cutting the ropes. The Mentor caught them with his right hand. I immediately stretched my arms away from each other, releasing a held breath.

His blade retracted, and he made me turn around again. I was carefully nursing my wrists now. They had been rubbed raw to the point of bleeding.

The Mentor's cold voice brought my attention back to him.

"You are guilty of murdering Tazim in order to protect your masters."

I froze.

He continued without hesitation, "As punishment, you will remain here and be interrogated until you die of natural causes or I mercifully end your suffering when, and only when, you have shared all your secrets."

Pausing, he studied me one last time before turning away and returning to the surface.

The remaining guard threw the cloth he was carrying at me, but I did not catch it. It fell to the dirty floor. Scowling in frustration he dismissed me disrespectfully, exited my cell, and told the key bearer to take over. Then he walked down the other end of the hall and left with the opening and closing of a heavy door.

The key bearer shook his head briefly. Looking at me again, he told me to change into that long yet thin, white robe. My prison uniform.

A wave of rebellion passed me, along with the urge to murder the closest person to me. The guard seemed to sense this, for he immediately tensed and equipped his hidden blade, poising for my throat.

My shoulders slowly sunk, and I closed my mouth.

_I am not guilty._

My fists tightened.

_I don't want to die._

Kneeling down, I grabbed the garment and placed it between my knees holding it in place. My hands gripped the base of my shirt for a few seconds before giving in, taking it off. The guard's blade slid back into its vambrace, leaving his open hand stretched. Getting the hint, I gave my handmade shirt one last look then threw it. While the guard caught it, I quickly put on the white gown before discarding my remaining pants and boots. I threw them to him. Looking at myself, I acknowledged that my ankles and wrists are covered by this baggy thing. The guard silently shut the door, locked it, and left through the entrance with my belongings.

Slowly sitting back on the bed, I resumed nursing my aching, blood dried wrists.

_This is what I get._

So much for my decision…

It did not surprise me that the key bearing guard returned with three of his friends, also with covered faces, twenty minutes later. While my door was unlocked I starred at the men warily.

"You people don't waste time, I see," I commented dryly as they entered the cell. Without needing to be ordered, I rose on my bare feet. Two of them each grabbed my upper arms, causing me to groan in protest.

The one holding my right arm, which is still bandaged and healing, yanked me first. Despite wanting to kill them, I had to remain cooperative and walk to receive the start of my sentence.

The key bearer led the way through the long room, but instead of going towards the entrance door from the surface, we went in the opposite direction. Coming closer and becoming easier to see was a solid metal door, wide enough for two men to fit through. The leading guard sorted out the biggest key from his collection, using it to unlock the suspicious door. Using both hands he pushed the door open, allowing me and my captors to enter.

This new room did not have any windows (that explains the stale air), instead being lit by a few torches. However, it gave me enough light to notice that this small room is really a wide corridor. Along each side are three windowless doors; I think they are made of metal as well.

I briefly tensed at the sound of one of the guards pushing the heavy door, and only exit, shut. The guards still holding me jerked forward, so I resumed following the key bearer to one of the six rooms. It seems I am to be in the middle room on the left-

An intimately familiar stench reached my nose as I passed the first door. It yanked at my memory…

My heartbeat immediately increased at the sudden realization. Those metal doors are for deadening screams!

Standing before the door, the key bearing guard opened it, and my escorts shoved me inside. I stumbled, barely catching my balance after a few steps. Once I stood still, I raised my head to turn and yell at those assholes, but my body completely froze once I saw the room.

Unexpectedly, the room is big; at least twenty people can be in here with space. Near the top of the opposite wall is a wide barred window, letting in enough sunlight to see and keeping the air flowing. Yet despite that and the lack of spotting it, I can smell blood. This entire room and its strange furniture: three long wooden tables, a small desk, seven wooden chairs, and many metal devices I have never seen before, have all been thoroughly washed. And each… _station _has their own piles of blood stained rope.

I'm in a torture chamber.

The door slamming shut startled me, and I spun around. Two tall assassins stood in way of the exit, locked in with me. My face paled. Old fears and memories started to surface, but I need to keep them down. I can't- I can't-

"Take a seat behind you."

My eyes focused on the one who spoke. Despite the lower half of his face being covered, I can still memorize the details of what is uncovered. There are many wrinkles on his forehead and around his eyes. They are faint, but I spotted scars that indicate his face has been scratched plenty over many years. His eyes are dark brown. From what I can tell, he is almost an elderly Arab.

Despite my growing unease I moved to the closest table and sat down on one of its two seats. The other assassin strolled around and out of my line of sight and stopped; he is standing right behind me.

My instincts did me justice since I had quickly memorized his upper face's details. His skin is still smooth, revealing his youth, but strangely it is light toned. But what really confused me were his eyes… Either I imagined it, or they are actually blue.

The man who had spoken took the remaining chair, sitting straight across from me. Bringing his hands before him, he lazily grasped them together and set them on the table.

It would make sense for the older assassin to do the interrogating. He is taller and bigger, thus more intimidating, and older, thus more experienced, than the other. Shazeb taught me a little about interrogating targets before they died. But I was never contracted to gain information, only kill, so I never had to use what little I knew about interrogation in the first place.

But having a good interrogator be threatening, merciless, skillful, experienced, and above all else patient, is a no-brainer. And this Order has proven to have competent planners and thinkers behind it.

The older assassin shifted slightly and leaned back, getting comfortable. Unlike him, I remained sitting perfectly straight with my heart pounding in my chest.

He finally began, "What was your purpose in Jerusalem?"

I know his question is underlined with the assumption that I serve the Crusaders, but that still did not keep me from telling the truth.

"Purpose? I _lived_ there."

The look in the old assassin's eyes changed into something that feels very familiar, but I can't fully remember it. And for some reason, it is making me feel disturbed.

"Don't play dumb," his remark sounded calmly bored rather than chastising. "What purpose did your masters give you to fulfill in Jerusalem?"

"The Crusaders are not my ma-"

I barely saw the man's right backhand, and the next thing I registered were my hands bracing against the floor and drops of blood landing on it. Immense pain erupted from my nose, and I raised a hand to touch the nostrils. Bringing it back, I confirmed that my nose is bleeding and broken.

The younger assassin grabbed me under my arms and hauled me up, placing me back in my chair. The interrogator had his hands grasped together again on the table top. I did not bother wiping away the blood trailing down my mouth and chin, dripping onto my uniform.

Again he calmly asked, "What was your purpose?"

"I am not a Templar-" The man's gloved fist shot out, grabbing the front of my shirt and pulling me across the table. This time I yelped in pain as he backhanded me again, hitting my broken nose.

Opening my eyes, I continued, "I don't serve them-" He backhanded then immediately slapped in succession, and I felt my upper lip bust open. My eyes began to water already. _Fuck!_

"Open your eyes, woman," he ordered, voice still unmoving.

Not having much choice, I obeyed. I stared into his eyes, and my blood turned as cold as them.

His fist on my clothing tightened as he leaned closer. "It is in your best interest that you understand me, Templar scum. Either you tell me what I want to know now, or you tell me what I want to know later in a pool of your own blood."

My hands started to shake. He's not bluffing.

"So… What is it going to be?"

I gulped and breathed in.

_Allah, please give me strength!_

"I cannot give you information that does not exist."

The assassin didn't even blink. He released my gown and roughly grabbed my upper arms. In one smooth motion he pulled then slammed me onto the table. I gasped from the impact on my back and head. The young assassin quickly moved to my feet, pulling them to the end of the table and tying my ankles near the top of the table's legs with bloodstained ropes.

Regaining my senses, I tried to sit up, but the older man pushed me down by my shoulders. I screamed and tried to use my legs, but the rope was tied securely. I swung my right fist, but the assassin dodged it before grabbing my wrist. My breathing hitched in pain, and I desperately did an upper cut with my left fist. He barely managed to dodge it then grab its wrist, and he pinned them down next to my sides.

The younger man walked up to us, carrying a long strand of rope. He laid it across my neck so one end dangled over the side of the table.

My eyes widened. "LET ME GO!" I started thrashing, trying to get it off.

The assistant assassin ducked under the table to grab the rope. I could feel when he reached it as the rope pushed down on my neck. I twisted my head and couldn't lean forward without choking myself. I heard him tie the rope beneath the table, and he soon came back into view.

"She should be trapped, master," the young man informed the interrogator, with a Christian accent. His eyes _are_ blue.

My rage immediately grew over my fear. "The first chance I get, I am going to KILL YOU!" I yelled at my captors with my remaining bravado.

The old assassin was not fazed by my threat. He released my wrists and stepped back, walking out of my line of sight. My freed hands immediately grabbed the rope to try and pull it off, but I only succeeded in moving it to the base of my throat. As a result from my thrashing, my neck is starting to get burns. Fucking _shit_!

The interrogator returned with a small metal object, setting it on the table next to my right hip. I can barely see it out of my peripheral vision now, but I still have never seen anything like it before. It could literally fit in my palm. From what I could tell, it consisted of four metal parts joining to make a square, and the top and bottom pieces had studs aligned on the inside. Another metal part, I think a handle, was attached on top of one of the side pieces. What it is it? What is it even used for?

My alarm grew from noticing the young assassin pull a thick piece of leather from his pouch.

His superior reprimanded him, "No. We need her to _talk_, not just suffer."

My heartbeat dramatically increased at those words. What can such a small thing do to cause pain?

The young man paused.

"Yes, master." He put the leather away.

The leading assassin grabbed my right hand and pulled it towards the device. His iron grip kept me from pulling my arm back, and I tried to lean my head up to see what he is doing. Again the rope pushed against my neck, choking me, and my head reflexively leaned back for relief.

I suddenly felt my thumb being grabbed and placed on cold metal, and I heard what I assumed the handle turning. Soon I felt metal on top of my thumb as well as beneath it, and my mind started making disturbing connections.

_Oh God, no-_

"What was your purpose in Jerusalem?"

My body trembled, finally understanding what I am about to face and experience for who knows how long.

"_Nothing_-" I cannot believe my terrified voice, "-you do will change the fact that I was never with the Templars and your Mentor judged wrongly."

The experienced man blinked at my decision then resumed turning the handle.

My eyes slowly widened.

My heart beat harder and louder than ever before in my life.

_STOP!_

"Remember that you have only yourself to blame for your unnecessary suffering."


End file.
